Mirrors and Doors
by ArtisticRainey
Summary: *Ch 33 uploaded.* Sequel to 'Pyrite Moon.' Four years have passed, and life marches on for the Tracys and Co. But something strange has been happening in the Pacific, and W.A.S.P. are keeping secrets about it... "Look in a mirror and one thing's sure: what we see is not who we are." Richard Bach. TAG/TOS crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Look in a mirror and what do you see? Yourself and yet... _not_. Everything looks the same at first glance. Then, upon further inspection, you realise that left is right and nothing is quite how it seems. Similar, yes. But there _are_ differences – and sometimes they are quite profound.

When Alice went through the looking glass, she found a whole different world. Not quite the same and yet, in some sort ways, not so different from her own. Alice found a portal to another world.

As it turned out, she wasn't the only one.

 **~oOo~**

" _M-day, mayd-_!"

The stilted words rang loudly through Thunderbird Five's control room. Alan spun around in his chair, stood and jogged to the control panel. Its lights blinked and shone with each syllable.

Plucking up the microphone, he spoke as clearly as he could.

"This is International Rescue, receiving you strength five. What is your situation?"

There was a moment of static on the line. Then the speaker's voice cut through.

"- _national Rescue? Who are_ you?"

Furrowing his brow, Alan spoke again.

"This is International Rescue," he repeated. "What goes on there? How may we assist you?"

More static. The voice - male, middle aged and gruff - cut in and out again.

" _Can't...-nderstand...going down...-ohn...help_!"

Fingers flying over the controls, Alan did what he could to try to triangulate the signal position.

"Keep broadcasting," he said. "I'm trying to get a fix on you."

" _Who...you? Emergency...oing down_ -"

The transmission broke off with a crack. Alan's nose crumpled with confusion and he tapped in a few more commands. But it was no use; he couldn't get the signal back. _Dammit._

"Base from Thunderbird Five," he said.

After a brief moment, Jeff picked up the call.

" _Go ahead, Alan_ ," he said.

"Dad, I received a call a few minutes ago but the signal was very weak. Whoever it was seemed to be in some kind of danger. I couldn't make out much but I did hear 'going down.' I managed to triangulate the last position of the signal, but I've lost it now."

" _Okay, Alan_ ," Jeff said. " _I'll send Scott out to recon the area. Transmit the co-ordinates to Thunderbird One when he's airborne_."

For a moment, Alan paused. At the silence, Jeff grunted.

" _Alan, do you hear me_?" he asked.

The sharp edge to the words snapped Alan back to reality again.

"Yes, Father. Sorry. Will do."

" _Alright_."

Sharpness turned to suspicion in that word. To avoid further questioning, Alan cut off the comm. line. He stood for a moment, running over what had happened in his head.

 _If I thought it wasn't crazy, I'd swear to God that the voice sounded like, well,_ Dad _..._ He shook his head. _Of course it wasn't. It just...really sounded like him. And it's just unnerving to think about Dad being in trouble._

Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind - or at least trying to - he waited for Scott to radio in for the co-ordinates. And yet the niggle was still there. _It_ really _sounded like Dad..._

 **~oOo~**

It took few scant minutes for Scott to make it to the location. The call had come from only two thousand miles away, a distance that passed in the blink of an eye for a craft like Thunderbird One.

When he got there, he found he wasn't the first one to arrive at the party. _That's a Stingray class vessel_ , he thought as he turned One around to get a clearer view, hovering far enough above not to disturb the water's glassy sheen. _I wonder if it's_ Stingray _herself?_

The submersible had surfaced and Scott could make out a figure swimming across the surface of the water - towards the rapidly sinking fuselage of a plane - a plane with a configuration he didn't recognise. _I've never seen that design before_ , Scott thought as he reached for his communicator. _It looks...strange. Could it be some kind of prototype?_

But there was no time to ponder further. With the flick of a switch, he opened a comm. channel.

"Stingray class vessel," he said. "This is International Rescue. Do you require assistance?"

" _International Rescue, this is W.A.S.P. vessel_ Barracuda." The speaker had a distinctive Dixie accent and a friendly air about him. " _Captain George Sheridan here. Ah think we're alright. There's just one passenger and my lieutenant is recovering him from the wreckage now_." Sheridan chuckled. " _Ah guess we get to be the heroes today_."

Scott joined in with a brief laugh and shook his head.

"Don't try and put us out of business, Sheridan," he said.

The captain chuckled.

" _Don't you go worryin' about that, International Rescue_ ," he said. " _We just happened to be on manoeuvres in the area when this poor fella came down_."

Through Thunderbird One's cockpit window, Scott saw the lieutenant disappear into the wreckage, then reappear again with another body in tow. After a moment, Sheridan called through again.

" _The fella seems to be alright_ ," he said. " _Lieutenant Coral says he's a bit shook up, but he doesn't seem to be too badly injured. Can't say the same for his plane, though. Sure looks like a strange one_. _Can't say Ah've seen anything like it before_."

"Me neither," Scott replied. "Well, if you have everything under control here, _Barracuda_ , I'll be on my way."

" _That we do, International Rescue_ ," Sheridan said. " _That we do. Thanks for droppin' by_!"

As the rescued man was pulled inside the submarine, Scott brought One up and turned her nose back in the direction of the island. Then he changed comm. channels once more.

"Base and Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One," he said. "On arrival, I found that the W.A.S.P. vessel _Barracuda_ was already carrying out a rescue operation. They've extracted the pilot from the wreckage."

" _F.A.B., Scott_ ," Jeff said. " _If there's nothing more you can do, head back to base now_."

Another voice sounded through the comm. It was Gordon.

" _The_ Barracuda?" he asked. " _Who was in command? Was it still old Fish Face Fischer_?"

"No," Scott said. "Someone named Sheridan."

Gordon gave a bark of incredulous laughter.

" _George Sheridan? George '_ Phones _' Sheridan? A fella who sounds as if he's dropped right out of an old Western movie_?"

"Could be," Scott said. "He did have the accent."

Gordon huffed out a breath. His smile was clear in his tone.

" _He finally made it to captain_ ," he said. " _I wonder how Captain Tempest and_ Stingray _have coped without him_?"

Chuckling, Scott pushed the thrust lever and started the short journey home. He felt the familiar pressure as One took off.

"Who knows?" he asked. "I'm just glad the _Barracuda_ was in the right place at the right time."

The next few minutes of his journey passed in relative quiet. Only the whirr and click of One's internal systems kept Scott company. Then, the comm. beeped again.

" _Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five_ ," said Alan

Scott frowned. _Something doesn't sound right._ Indeed, his brother's voice was tight with tension.

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

" _Scott_ ," the youngest Tracy said. " _Did you happen to get a good look at the pilot_?"

Brows creasing, Scott shook his head - even though Alan couldn't see the gesture.

"I'm afraid not, Alan. I was too far away to make out any fine details." He paused. "Why do you ask?"

" _It's nothing, Scott_ ," Alan said.

Scott snorted.

"Wow. Convincing."

Alan gave a snort of irritation.

" _Never mind,_ " he snapped.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Scott tried to be conciliatory.

"I'm sorry, Alan," he said. "What's on your mind?"

" _Scott. I know it sounds crazy but... The pilot's voice. It sounded a lot like Dad. Listen_."

There was a moment of tapping and clicking before the playback of the emergency call sounded through One's speakers.

" _M-day, mayd-_... _national Rescue? Who are you_? _Can't...-nderstand...going down...-ohn...help_! _Who...you? Emergency...oing down_ -"

The tone of the tinny voice made Scott's blood run cold.

"That really does sound like Dad," he said. "But Father's at home, safe."

 _"I know_ ," Alan said. " _It's just a coincidence but... I gotta say, it unnerved me_."

"I can understand that," Scott said. "It's pretty eerie. There was something strange about the plane, too. It was a design I've never seen before."

" _Weird... Anyway, never mind_ ," Alan said. " _The pilot, whoever he is, is in safe hands now_."

"Right," Scott said. "My ETA to base is only six and one half minutes now."

" _F.A.B_.," Alan said. " _Safe journey home_."

With that, he cut the comm. and Scott was left alone with his thoughts once more, amidst the familiar heartbeat of _One's_ systems.

And yet something lingered from the call. Something...strange. _Weird,_ Scott thought. _Alan was right. That was very weird..._

Things were quiet on the island for the rest of the afternoon. As soon as One was snug in her hangar again and he'd had a short debrief with his father, Scott settled down in the kitchen to a late lunch. His grandmother bustled about the kitchen, still active even approaching ninety as she was. Missing nothing, she planted her hands on her hips as she watched him push the pasta around on his plate.

"Scott Tracy," she said. "It's just not like you to play with your food like that. What's on your mind?"

Sighing, Scott let his fork fall with a clatter and folded his arms.

"Nothing much, Grandma," he said.

At the glimpse of her one raised eyebrow, Scott chuckled and held up his hands.

"Alright, I give in," he said. He laid his hands back down on the table. "I've had this feeling that I can't shake ever since I came back from the last mission - if you can even call it a mission."

Sitting down across from him, Grandma Tracy tapped her short fingernails on the table top.

"What's the feeling?" she asked.

"It's just... Alan played me back the emergency call and I'd swear that if I didn't know better, I'd say it was Dad. No doubt about it."

"Oh, I can understand why that might unnerve you, Scott," Grandma said, reaching out to take one of his hands. "It's awful to imagine any of you in trouble. I didn't sleep for a week after the incident with that crook Grafton's monorail - or when you were shot down - or when Virgil crashed - and Gordon's hydrofoil accident - and when Alan and I were stuck on that bridge - and when John went missing..." She shook her head and gave a tiny chuckle. "It's not a safe business that we're in. I'm surprised I get any sleep at all!"

Scott squeezed her fingers. Her skin was cool and almost felt like crepe paper.

"I know that, Grandma," Scott replied. "There's just something about the whole thing that doesn't sit right with me. That plane was something like I'd never seen before. It looked almost futuristic, if you can believe that. I've never seen anything like it, not even in the Air Force."

Grandma Tracy frowned.

"Could it have been an experimental thing?" she asked. "Something top secret?"

"Maybe, Grandma," Scott said. "But the combination of the crash and the voice - and the fact that Alan can't find any record of a flight plan being submitted that would match the course the plane was on - it just doesn't sit right with me."

Letting go of her grandson's hand again, Grandma Tracy nodded.

"Maybe in order to put your mind at ease, you need to ask your father to send Gordon out to have a look at the wreckage," she said. "If part of it is still out there, it might give you some answers - or at least put this issue to bed."

Scott nodded.

"That's a great idea, Grandma," he said. "I'll go and -"

He went to stand but he was held in place by the wag of a wrinkled finger.

"Not yet young man," his grandmother said. "Not until you finish your lunch."

Scott couldn't help but laugh at the seriousness in her voice. He planted himself back down onto the chair and plucked up his fork with a grin.

"Yes, Grandma."


	2. Chapter 2

Within an hour, Two was in the air. The great green behemoth didn't travel the distance across the Pacific as fast as her silver sister had. Regardless, Scott was glad to be underway. He, Virgil and Gordon had been dispatched to return to the rescue site and try to recover some of the wreckage. _I sure hope we find something,_ Scott thought. _I'd hate for this to be a waste of time and resources._

"Penny for them?"

Gordon's voice snapped Scott's attention away from the cockpit window. He shook. His head, unable to stop himself from returning his ever-cheery brother's smile.

"Nothing," Scott said. "I was just hoping that this won't be a waste of time."

"Ah, relax, will ya?" Gordon said. "Dad trusts your judgement."

"Yeah," Virgil chimed in. "And anyway, the more you talked about it, the more interested he got - especially when Alan played back the recording."

Gordon nodded and turned in his seat.

"Yeah. It was eerily similar."

"But then again," Scott said, playing devil's advocate to his own thoughts, "the recording isn't clear. The signal was very weak."

From the pilot's seat, Virgil nodded.

"True. But regardless of the transmission, there's still the wreck to investigate. If the craft was as strange as you said, it might be some kind of new technology being tested - not necessarily by someone who has the protection and preservation of humanity at heart."

"Or," Gordon said, leaning forward and bringing his fingers together in a peak, "it could be aliens."

Scott shook his head and pressed a palm to Gordon's forehead, pushing him back.

"Don't be an idiot," he said.

Gordon straightened.

"I'm serious!" he said. "You know what John says: it's statistically impossible for us to be alone in the universe."

"Actually," Virgil corrected, "he said it's statistically _improbable_ , which is different."

"Impossible, improbable - whatever," Gordon said with a wave of one hand. "But think about it. A strange aircraft, downed under mysterious circumstances, no record of the flight path... It could just be true!"

"Or it could just be a military test flight gone wrong," Virgil said, glancing over his shoulder.

Scott sat back and folded his arms.

"It didn't look military," he said. "Not at first glance, anyway."

"Well," Gordon said, "we'll find out soon enough. I'll get Four down there with her high powered lights and we'll get a better look."

Before Scott could ask, Virgil chimed in.

"ETA two and one half minutes," he said.

Scott nodded.

"Well, I guess we'll know then..."

 **~oOo~**

When he'd been asked - or rather told - to go out on a recon mission with Virgil and Scott, Gordon had been in the middle of an epic game of ping pong. The reigning island champion, he was defending his crown once again when the comm. signal made him jump - and he missed Elijah's return.

"No!" he had cried, leaping to the side in a vain attempt to make paddle meet ball.

But it was no use. He clattered to the ground, knocking into a potted plant and being rewarded with a shower of soil and despair. And worst of all, Elijah hadn't even looked happy at his win. _In fact, he hasn't looked happy about much for a while_ , Gordon thought. _I hope he's alright._

The pain of defeat still smarted like a slap to the face as he took his place at Four's controls' grumbling about the unfairness of the world. Scott patted his shoulder - though his grin was far from sympathetic.

"Never mind, Gords," Scott said. "Better luck next time."

"A stretch of fifteen games undefeated, destroyed by a beep," Gordon groused. "So unfair."

Virgil's voice brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

" _Ready for pod deployment_ ," he said

"F.A.B., Thunderbird Two," Gordon said.

For a moment, the cabin was silent. The salty tang of Scott's wetsuit permeated the air. The deck plating thrummed beneath their feet. Then they were falling.

Scott grunted as the pod hit the water; Gordon grinned.

"Too much for your old bones?" he asked. "You are nearly forty, after all."

"I am not nearly forty," Scott said, gripping the back of Gordon's seat. "I'm thirty-nine."

"Which is nearly forty," Gordon clarified.

The door of the pod swung down, letting sunlight and saltwater flow inside.

"And looks who's talking, buster," Scott said. "Didn't you have your thirty-second birthday this year? You're hardly a young whipper-snapper, either."

Gordon tapped in the command to raise the rails that Four sat upon and grunted.

"Don't remind me," he said. "I might be old - but I'll never be as old as you!" Then his tone became officious as he spoke into the comm. "Preparing for launch."

" _F.A.B_.," Virgil said. " _Don't get lost down there_."

And with that, the little yellow sub accelerated forward, slipping into the gloomy Pacific depths with the grace of a ballet dancer.

But as soon as they had broken the surface, Gordon's witty retort to Virgil was forgotten. Instead, he glanced a little more closely at his sonar read outs.

"We're not the only ones here," he said. "I'm picking up several craft, about 5,000 meters down."

Scott leaned in and frowned.

"Strange," he said. "Take us down."

Gordon smirked. He couldn't let the opportunity pass.

"Yeah. Let's get to the _bottom_ of this, right? Right?"

Rolling his eyes, Scott grunted.

"Awful, Gordon. Just awful."

Even the halogen lighting bar on, they could hardly see anything as the craft descended. But the dots on the donor grew ever closer -and after a short time, the comm. sounded again. This time, it wasn't Virgil.

" _Unknown craft_ ," a female voice said. " _This is the W.A.S.P. Submarine_ Hammerhead. _Please avoid this location. We are carrying out a salvage operation_."

"Submarine _Hammerhead_ ," Gordon replied. "This is International Rescue. We were called to this area earlier today. We're just doing a little recon to see if we can figure out what happened."

Not stopping their descent, they neared the area. Huge underwater searchlights lit up the gloom and they could make out the dark, fishlike silhouettes of W.A.S.P. craft slipping in and out of sight.

"What kind of craft are those?" Scott asked.

"They look like Mermaid class reconnaissance subs," Gordon said. "Nothing out of the ordinary. But that big, knife shaped one is a _Synanceia_ class."

"That's a warship, right?"

Gordon nodded

"Right."

" _International Rescue_ ," the woman's voice sounded again. " _Reverse your course. Stay away from this area._ "

"And now I'm really suspicious," Scott said. "Keep going but slow us down a bit. I want to get as close as possible before we have to turn back."

"F.A.B.," Gordon said.

 _Four_ drew closer to the area, so close that they could finally make out what was going on. There was a shelf in the sea bed, around which the recon craft were circling. Several divers were swimming to and from the shelf. The _Synanceia_ class ship _Hammerhead_ loomed above them, its menacing form painted in silver from the underwater lights.

And there it was. The downed plane.

"Bingo," Scott said. "That's the one."

"It looks _weird_ ," Gordon said. "Kinda futuristic." He glanced up over his shoulder. "Still think my aliens theory is far fetched?"

"I don't know what to think," Scott said.

Before he could say any more, the _Hammerhead_ suddenly sprang to life. No longer hovering, it turned its nose towards them.

"Uh oh," Gordon said. "I think we've got as close as we can."

" _International Rescue_." The woman's voice had taken on a hard edge. " _You have been warned. If you do not comply with our instructions, we will need to take aggressive action_." Her voice softened. " _And we really don't want to have to do that_."

"Message received and understood," Gordon said. "We're backing off. That's a mighty strange wreck you've got there."

The hard edge was back in the woman's voice.

" _All information is classified_ ," she said.

"Of course it is," Gordon said. "International Rescue out."

The clicked off the comm. and glanced at Scott again.

"Looks like you won't be a getting out for a dip today, brother," he said.

Scott's brow was deeply creased, his eyes narrow.

"Yeah, and I won't be getting any answers, either. This is really strange, Gords," he said.

"Agreed," Gordon replied. "Agreed."

 **~oOo~**

The sky was dotted with silvery stars. The air was crisp. All was well.

Outside, at least. John huffed out a breath as he slid the French windows closed and turned back into the apartment. Inside, things were... _different_.

He crossed the kitchenette, pausing to wipe a few stray droplets of water from the glimmering marble worktop, before tiptoeing to the door of his daughter's bedroom.

It was ajar as always, the room dark except for a starry sky night lights that projected constellations onto the walls and roof. When he saw the little blonde head nuzzled underneath an outer space blanket, John couldn't help but grin.

 _My little star baby_ , he thought. Then he spied a gangly leg poking out from beneath the covers and shook his head. _Not a baby any more,_ he thought. _My big star girl_.

Assured that Lyra was sleeping soundly, John crept back out to the kitchenette. His daughter was five, now. _Five! I can hardly believe it. It seems like yesterday we were celebrating her first birthday..._

The past four years seemed to have passed by in a whirl. So many things were different. Both Lyra and Adam were growing up - not to mention that Tin-Tin was four months gone with Mini Alan number two. _Another kid on the island!_ John thought. _And_ _Dad's loving every minute of it._

Not only was the population swelling, but living arrangements had adapted, too. John crossed to the fridge and fished out a bottle of water, then turned to survey his new home. He and Lyra had moved into Elijah's Cliff House apartment two years before and, until now, there had been no problems.

John unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of the cool liquid. Recently, Elijah had been moody and short with him, nothing like his usual collected self. _I wish he'd just tell me what was wrong_ , John thought as he took another drink. _It would be so much easier if he would just open his mouth about it_. The slightest thing seemed to set Elijah to scowling and muttering. _I don't know what I'm doing wrong!_

Trying to push the thoughts side, John finished the water and tossed the empty bottle into the recycler unit. It hummed softly as the bottle was swept off for reconditioning somewhere in the bowels of the island. It would reappear as part of a console or a panel - or whatever Brains could use it for. Clicking off the lights, John padded to the bedroom. Elijah was already in bed, though the bedside lamp was on.

John stripped and pulled on a pair of comfortable sleep pants, before climbing under the covers. Elijah shifted but didn't turn to face him. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John reached for his book and lost himself in the text for a while.

A phrase was uttered, though, that snapped him right out of the story. A phrase that came right out of the blue.

"Let's have a baby."

John paused for a moment. Then he turned his head to the side, letting his book close on one finger. He frowned and raised an eyebrow.

"Elijah, you do realise the biological impossibility of that," he said.

Sighing, Elijah pulled himself upright and turned, shaking his head.

"You know what I mean," he replied.

John placed his book on the bedside table and rubbed his eyes. He felt his contact lens shift a little. _Still not used to these... I think I prefer glasses._

"Is this why you've been acting as skittish as a spooked cat recently?" he asked.

Elijah reddened and looked down at the coverlet. His freckled fingers traced the swirling pattern.

"Uh, yeah," he said softly. "It's been on my mind for a while - ever since I found out Tin-Tin was pregnant again."

Sitting up a little straighter in the bed, John shook his head - and couldn't help but grin as he watched the other man play with the covers like a recalcitrant child.

When Elijah saw the smile, he scowled.

"What?"

John reached out to take his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.

"Eli, you should have just _told_ me instead of acting like a moody teenager for the past few weeks."

Elijah's scowl deepened.

"I have not been -" But the unreasonable volume of his own voice stopped him cold and he gave a self-depreciating chuckle. "Alright, fine. Maybe I have been acting a bit childish."

"Indeed," John said.

He pulled the other man in for a hug; Elijah tucked his head under John's chin. Playing with the wiry curls at the side of Elijah's head, John grinned.

"I kind of like the idea of having another kid," he said.

Elijah snuggled closer and almost purred with delight.

"You do?" he asked. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to."

"I can't quite believe I want to, either," John said with a chuckle. "Five years ago I couldn't see myself as a parent - and now I have one kid and want another!"

"Another what?"

Elijah sat up and John straightened. Both their gazes were drawn to the bedroom door - where Lyra stood, her too-short pyjama legs riding up over her skinny calves.

John beckoned his daughter over; her tired face beamed with joy. She clambered onto the bed and planted herself right in the middle of her two fathers, cross-legged with wisps of blonde hair falling over her face.

Reaching out to smooth the strands behind her ear, John smiled.

" _Dada_ _í_ has something to tell you," he said.

Caught off-guard, Elijah threw him a confused look that asked, _Are you sure you want to tell her right now?_ John simply nodded. _I'm sure_.

"Well," Elijah said, reaching out to take the little girl's hands. "Dad and I have been talking and... We've decided that we'd like to have a little brother or sister for you."

Lyra's eyes grew wide and bright as moons.

" _Really_?" she asked. "And would they live here with us, not the way Amelia lives in England?"

Elijah cast John a delighted look and smiled.

"Yes, Ly-Ly," he said. "They would live here with us."

Without warning, the girl threw herself forward and pulled her fathers into a hug. The strength in her thin arms was deceptive. She howled with joy.

"Thank you, Dad! Thank you, _Dada_ _í_!"

John chuckled and returned the hug, wrapping his arms around both daughter and partner.

"I'm glad you're pleased," he said. "We all are."

The girl pulled out of the hug and her face changed. In place of delight was stone-cold seriousness.

"Now, Dads," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "You do know you can't have a baby, don't you?"

It took all of John's strength to keep his laughter at bay. Her face was so serious, her smooth brows drawn low. Elijah turned away, feigning a cough to hide his mirth.

"Yes, Lyra," John said. Then he paused, cocking his head to the side. "What do you think we should do?"

Lyra tapped her chin as she considered the possibilities.

"Well," she said, "I think you should find a baby that has no home and bring it here. Like what I wish had been done for _Dadai_ and Uncle Matty."

Once again, John couldn't quite believe the level of not only the child's intelligence, but her empathy as well.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Lyra," he said. He looked at Elijah and grinned. "And I think we'll do just that."

 **~oOo~**

He woke up in a room full of strangers, in a world that didn't look right. Sitting up, the covers fell from his torso. _Bandages_ , he thought. _Why am I covered in bandages? And where the hell am I? And why do I_ hurt _so much?_

He glanced around to try and get his bearings. Hospital. He was in some kind of hospital. _Why... Oh my God - the crash. That's right. I went down into the ocean..._

Through the windows that looked out onto the corridor, he could see nurses and doctors...but also people in a strange uniform. Grey with red and gold piping. It looked military - but not like anything he had ever seen.

One of the nurses caught a glimpse of him from the corridor and headed into the room, smiling broadly. He pulled the blanket over himself again.

"Ah," the nurse said. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he said. "And confused as hell. Where am I?"

"You're in a W.A.S.P. medical facility in Brisbane," she said. "Do you remember that happened?"

"W.A.S.P.?" he asked, ignoring her question. "What the hell is W.A.S.P.?"

The woman drew her brows down low; her eyes darkened.

"The World Aquanaut Security Patrol," she said. "I'm surprised that you don't know us. We are a worldwide organisation, after all."

Leaning back against the lumpy hospital pillows, he shook his head.

"Never heard of you," he said. Then he sat up again, his movements jerky. "I need to contact my family. I need to let them know that I'm alright."

The nurse nodded, some of the confusion falling from her expression.

"I'll get you access to a videophone," she said.

"A _videophone_?" he asked. "Are you fifty years behind in technology here or something? Don't you have a holographic projector?"

Taking a step back, the woman pressed one hand against the door frame.

"A what?" she asked. Then she looked at him with a strange glint in her eyes. "Sir... What date is it today? What year?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he snapped, snorting. "It's November fourteenth, 2060."

The nurse shook her head, eyes widening.

"I think I need to get one of the doctors," she said, backing away.

He threw off the covers and leapt from the bed.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "What year do you think it is?"

She hesitated, then spoke.

"It's 2074, sir," she said. Then she narrowed her eyes again.

The floor was cold under his feet and it felt as though the bottom had fallen out of his world. Before he could ask any further questions, the nurse was gone - and had closed the door behind her.

Returning to sit on the edge of the bed, he gripped the crinkling hospital sheet and shook his head. A cloying hand of panic seemed to tighten around his throat.

If only I had my communicator, he thought, looking mournfully at his arm - bereft of the holographic projector that would have connected him to his sons.

He glanced up and saw the nurse and a tall doctor striding back towards the room. _I need to get out of here,_ he thought. _I need to figure out what the hell has happened - and where I really am._

With a clunk, the door opened and the doctor bustled in, still wearing an old-fashioned stethoscope around his neck.

"Ah," he said. "It's good to see you awake, Mr..." Glancing at the chart, he frowned. "Actually, we have you down as a John Doe. What's your name?"

"Tracy," he said. "Jeff Tracy."


	3. Chapter 3

Three days had passed since Jeff Tracy had woken up in a world he didn't know. Everything was similar and yet...not. It was as though everything had been turned on its head, or that he was looking at life from a diagonal.

 _It's still Earth,_ he thought. _It's the same planet and yet there are so many changes. The date's wrong, the year is wrong. The GDF seems to have disappeared - and there are so many other organisations that I've never even heard of! These W.A.S.P. people, the World Space Association, some kind of whole world government... And the global conflict of 2040 didn't even happen. And worst of all, everything seems to run on nuclear power!_ Jeff shook his head, adjusting the too-large t-shirt over his shoulders again. _How they haven't managed to blow themselves up yet is beyond me._

Strange place. Strange faces. Strange clothes. Jeff adjusted the loose pants he had been given and sighed. _It's better than nothing, I guess_ , he thought. _And certainly better than a hospital gown!_ But his mirth subsided quickly and he returned his attention to taking in his surroundings.

He had been taken to another W.A.S.P. facility and placed in an interview room. Up to now, his treatment had been all smiles and chats and questions about how he was feeling. But Jeff Tracy was not only a military man himself, but he was also not a fool. _They want to know where I came from,_ he thought. _They want to see if I'm a threat. How do I explain to them that I have no idea what's going on? I wish I could remember..._

Everything was a blur. He remembered leaving Tracy Island, heading off to meet a few buddies he had known since the war. Things were proceeding as normal; John had cleared his flight path.

Then they weren't normal. Then _something_ happened.

" _John, I've lost control over my flight path," he had said. "It's like something's pulling me off course._ "

" _Hold on, Dad," said the ever-calm and comforting voice of his son, "I'm tracking -"_

And then there was a blinding flash, a searing red-hot fire in his ears - and then he'd been falling through the air, down towards an ocean that glinted like barbs below him.

" _Mayday, mayday!"_

 _Jeff had expected to hear John's voice, tight with concern. But he hadn't._

 _"This is In...al -escue, receiv- stren- five," a strange voice said. It hadn't sounded like John at all. "What...ituation?"_

 _There was a burst of static. Jeff's hands frantically flew over the controls as the water loomed ever closer_.

" _International Rescue?" he had asked. "Who are_ you?"

 _More static. The voice - male, young and light - cut in and out again._

 _"This is Int-national -escu- goes...there? How may - ist you?"_

 _"I can't make you out," Jeff said, grunting in frustration. I don't understand this! I'm going down. John, help!"_

 _"Keep broad... trying to get a fix..."_

 _But it was too late. He'd asked one last question from pure frustration and terror._

 _"Who are you? Emergency! I'm going down -"_

Then he had hit the water with the strength of a category five hurricane. And then, he had awoken in the W.A.S.P. medical centre with bruised ribs and a headache the size of the moon. _I'm lucky I wasn't killed,_ he thought.

With a soft swoosh, the door opened. Two men entered the room - one of whom looked less than friendly. _Or maybe it wasn't so lucky after all..._

The taller of the two men - whose rank insignia showed he was a lieutenant colonel, providing the system was the same as at home - reached out to shake Jeff's hand. But the grip was loose, cold.

"Mr Tracy," he said. "My name is Lieutenant Colonel Rivers. This is Captain Sheridan. He was part of the crew who rescued you from the wreckage."

Sheridan extended his hand. This time, the handshake was more welcoming.

"Ah'm pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, "and glad to see you in better shape than you were a few days ago!"

The man's charm was infectious and Jeff couldn't stop himself from smiling back.

"Thank you for coming to my assistance," he said. "If you hadn't been around, I don't know what I would have done."

Sheridan and the colonel sat down on the hard seats on the opposite side of the table.

"Ah reckon you would have been alright," he said. "Ya look like a tough cookie. An' anyway, International Rescue showed up in a blaze of glory just as you were being dragged out. They musta got your call for help."

Blood running cold, Jeff gripped the edge of the table until his fingers went white. _International Rescue? What the hell is going on here?_ His change in countenance didn't go unnoticed, for the colonel leaned in, elbows on the table.

"Mr Tracy," Rivers said. "Can you explain what happened to you? Because, quite frankly," he continued, sitting back and crossing his arms, "we're stumped."

Jeff mirrored his body language and folded his arms.

"To be honest," he said, "I don't really know."

In the next moment, when Rivers gave him a look of disbelief, Jeff tried to analyse him. _A mark where a wedding ring was,_ he thought. _Bags under his eyes. Shirt wrinkled. I think the lieutenant colonel is having some trouble at home_.

"You see, Jeff," Rivers said. "I find it hard to believe that you have no idea what's going on. We can find no record of your flight plan. We have no information about what kind of aircraft you were flying. And, from the background checks we did on you, we have no fingerprints, no DNA, to confirm your identity."

Jeff sat back and spread his hands.

"Maybe I've just never been in trouble with the law," he said with a smile

But Rivers wasn't smiling.

"Or maybe you're running from it," he said. Then he let out a curt laugh. "And to be honest, you could have used a more innocuous pseudonym. Jeff Tracy is pretty well known. And you aren't him."

"I'm sure there are lots of Jeff Tracys all over the world," Jeff said, his chest tightening. "It's idiotic to assume there's only one."

Rivers bristled at that word. The muscles of his jaw tensed. _That hit a nerve,_ Jeff thought.

"With the greatest of respect," Sheridan said, pasting an easy smile on his face, "we just really need your help here. Y'see, Jeff Tracy - the real Jeff - is a business magnate, and he has fingers in all kinds of aerospace pies. It just seems strange that you've fallen out of the sky in a high-spec, never-before-seen kind of plane - and we can find no record of you, but you say your name is Jeff Tracy." He cocked his head to the side. "D'you see why we're so concerned?"

"I do," Jeff said.

 _Business magnate, fingers in a lot of aerospace pies... It sounds like me._

"Your plane isn't the first thing to fall out if the sky in that particular area of the ocean," Rivers said. "For the past few weeks, there have been at least half a dozen incidents where something has fallen into the ocean - all within the same square mile. Yours is just the first aircraft."

"What kind of things have fallen?" Jeff asked.

"Nothing good," Rivers said before Sheridan could open his mouth. "I think you know what I'm talking about, and that's why you're feeding us a pack of lies."

Frowning, Jeff shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel," he said, "but I haven't got any idea about what you're talking about. Maybe if you were clearer -"

Where 'idiotic' struck a nerve, 'clearer' snapped it in two.

"God dammit," he said, slamming his hand on the table. "Don't feed me anymore bullshit. You know who's been dumping the nuclear waste. Tell me what I want to know!"

 _Bingo_ , Jeff thought. _And now you've told me what I want to know._

"Maybe we should take a break," Sheridan said.

Rivers was breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving up and down. He cast one final glance at Jeff, before he wrenched himself from the chair and stormed out.

When the door slammed shut behind him, Sheridan gave Jeff an apologetic smile.

"Ah'm sorry about him," he said.

Then the man cocked his head to the side again, opened his mouth to speak, but then said nothing. He went to walk away but stopped when his hand touched the door handle. He turned on his heel and wagged a finger at Jeff.

"Y'know," he said. "I actually used to know one of Jeff Tracy's sons."

"Oh?" Jeff asked. "What was his name?"

Sheridan chuckled and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops.

"Ah'm really surprised you don't know. The son's just about as famous as his father. Don't you remember the Red Menace? The cheeky eighteen year old who brought gold home for the USA in the Olympics in 2060?" Sheridan chuckled. "Fastest swimmer at the butterfly stroke in the whole world – then and now. He joined W.A.S.P. Not long after that. Great kid."

All the blood drained from Jeff's face and he gripped the edge of the table again. Sheridan's smile drooped.

"Gordon," Jeff whispered.

Sitting back down on the chair across the metal table, Sheridan nodded.

"Yeah, Gordon," he said. "Y'all seem to have recognised somethin' in what Ah just said."

Trying to regain his composure, Jeff swallowed and shook his head.

"I just remembered his name, that's all," he thought. "You're right. He was famous."

Sheridan leaned in, drumming his fingertips on the hard table top.

"Jeff, or whoever you are," he said. "Ah believe that you have no idea how you got here. But at the same time, Ah think you're not telling us everything we need to know. Now, there's a serious environmental disaster in the making, here, what with all this toxic waste fallin' into the ocean. If any of those barrels break, we could be in for a helluva big problem. We need to know what's happening."

The words pulled at every one of Jeff's heartstrings. He had been the havoc that nuclear waste could wreak. Hadn't his sons attended to countless nuclear incidents in the very early days of International Rescue? It was serious business, he knew. _Lives could be put in danger..._

He was about to speak but before he could, the door opened again. Rivers stepped into the room, this time flanked by two armed guards.

 _Shit._


	4. Chapter 4

John paused before he struck the door. Fist poised, he looked at Elijah.

"Ready?" he asked.

Nodding, Elijah gave a little smile.

"Yeah."

With that, John's knuckles connected with the office door. A distracted 'come' sounded straight away and John turned the handle.

Jeff Tracy was sitting behind his desk, a paperwork mountain gradually being transplanted from one side to the other, revealing a tall vase of bright red Japanese peonies. His eyes brightened as he saw the pair and he plucked his tortoiseshell glasses from his nose.

"Ah, boys," he said, gesturing at the seats in front of him. "How are you?"

As they sat down in front of him, John couldn't help but grin at his father's easy manner.

"We're good, Dad," John said. "How are you?"

For a man of sixty-five, he was still agile and lively. The strong sinews of his arms belied the growing wrinkles on his face and, if he dyed his hair back to its original dark brown, he could easily pass for fifty.

"I'm fine, son," he said.

In the past five years, the changes on Tracy Island seemed to have been the tonic for Jeff's stress. A lot of that, John knew, was due to the arrival of the first Tracy grandchildren.

That thought brought him to his point.

"Dad," John said, adjusting his glasses. "Elijah and I have something we wanted to tell you."

He used the word 'tell' quite deliberately. 'Ask' didn't suit, since John had no interest in seeking his father's permission. Alan and Tin-Tin hadn't checked before Adam, nor before their newest pregnancy. No, 'ask' wasn't through the word at all.

"Oh?" Jeff asked, sitting back in his high-backed leather chair and lacing his fingers together.

John shared a look with Elijah, trying to assuage the other man's nervousness. Then he turned back to his father.

"Elijah and I have decided that we want to have another child."

The news could have gone one of two ways: consternation or joy. The Jeff Tracy of fifteen years before would have been the former, all low-drawn brows and concerns aplenty. Thankfully, the Jeff Tracy of now was the latter.

His face broken into a wide smile and he unlaced his fingers, setting his hands on the flat of the table top.

"That's great news!" he said, chuckling. "I knew it wouldn't be long before we were having this conversation."

"You did?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

His father leaned forward.

"John, I have five sons and none of you were accidental. Your mother and I had a big family because we wanted one, not because we weren't careful." He grinned. "Kids are addictive."

Chuckling, John shifted in his chair to face Elijah.

"You see?" he said. "I told you Dad would be delighted."

Colouring slightly, Elijah ducked his head.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

Jeff sat back again, still grinning.

"I'm delighted, boys," he said. "Truly delighted." Then he glanced at his watch and shrugged. "I'd offer you a congratulatory drink but it's not even time for lunch yet."

"Thanks anyway," John said.

Jeff crossed his legs and set his hands on the arms of his chair, face suddenly more serious.

"So what way are you going to go about it?" he asked. "In vitro? Surrogacy? Adoption? Each have their own benefits and drawbacks."

"Adoption," Elijah said, a shade too quickly. "Definitely adoption." His anxious look softened a little. "It's something I've always wanted to do."

Nodding solemnly, Jeff grunted.

"Understood," he said. "There are a lot of legalities to consider and you might face some issues with the isolated nature of our lifestyle. But it's nothing you won't be able to handle."

He grew thoughtful for a moment and drummed his fingertips on the leather upholstery. John knew that face well. It was an expression that had dropped a thousand bombshells.

"You know," Jeff said, flicking his eyes from one man to the other, "you might find things a little easier if you, oh, I don't know, got married..."

John barked out a laugh at his father's words.

"Subtle as a brick to the head Dad," he said.

Jeff shrugged, smiling.

"It's what your mother would have said. And I would agree on that point. I know that marriage doesn't necessarily prove that a relationship is stable but there's still an unspoken prejudice."

A seed of thought now germinating in his mind, John reached out to pluck up Elijah's hand.

"Well, what do you say?"

Raising one eyebrow, Elijah shook his head.

"Really? That's how you're going to ask me?"

Sucking in an incredulous breath, John looked to his father for support - only to find Jeff shaking his head in disapproval.

"You can do better than that," he said.

"Fine!" John said, half-exasperated and half-bemused.

He released Elijah's hand and was about to drop onto on knee. Then he spied the flowers on the desk. Reaching out, he gave a cursory '' _scuse me_ ' as he pulled the red peonies from the vase - much to his father's amusement.

Falling on one knee, he held out the flowers in front of him.

"Elijah Stephen Patrick Lynch," he said. "Will you marry me?"

Even in the absurd quickness of the moment, even though he knew what Elijah would say, John's heart still started to thunder in his chest. _This is crazy_ , he thought.

Reaching out to accept the flowers, Elijah smiled.

"Alright then."

His jaw falling, John gaped.

"That's all I get?" he asked. "'Alright then'?"

"In fairness," Elijah said, gesturing to the flowers, "you did just steal these from your Dad. I think I'm vindicated. And anyway," he added with a smirk, "I don't see a ring for my finger."

At that, John gave a conciliatory shrug.

"That is true. Can I get up now?"

"'Spose you can," Elijah said, handing the flowers back to Jeff.

"Keep them," Jeff said with a chuckle.

John rose and plonked himself back in his seat.

"Well, I guess we're engaged," he said.

"And that," Jeff added, turned to grab the key for his liquor cabinet, "is definitely an excuse for a celebratory drink - especially now that it's after noon."

Before the other two men could protest, Jeff had pulled a bottle of top shelf whisky from the cabinet and was doling it out in three crystal tumblers. Handing two out, he held the third up for a toast.

"To my son and future son-in-law," he said. "I wish you all the luck and love in the world."

The air filled with the delicate clink of tumbler on tumbler and John downed the drink. It burned the back of his throat in the most exquisite way possible.

"Thanks, Father," he said. Then he turned to Elijah. "That was unexpected!"

Finishing the last of his whisky, Elijah gave a satisfied 'aah' and nodded.

"True," he said. "But I still want a ring."

Chucking, John looked at his father.

"Permission to go to the mainland tomorrow?" he asked.

"Granted," Jeff said. Then a mischievous smirk graced his lips. "And bring a fat wallet," he said. "I know I had to when I went engagement ring shopping with your mother!"

"Too right," Elijah said, folding his arms, the peonies blooming over his elbow.

The three men dissolved into laughter. John took of his glasses to rub his eyes, feeling more than just the burn of alcohol warming him from the inside.

 **~oOo~**

As he watched the two men disappear from his office, hand in hand like excitable teenagers, Jeff chuckled and shook his head. He cleared away the whisky glasses, the videophone sounded. He reached for the controls, brow furrowing as he recognised the channel the call was coming through on. It was a secure line from Tracy Industries in New York, where his security team was headquartered, operating around the clock.

"Hello?" he asked.

Sitting down in front of the screen, Jeff nodded, furrowing his brow. The image in front of him was of a young woman, who bore the crossed _T &I_ symbol on the breast pocket of her shirt.

"Mr Tracy, sir," she said, her accent delicate and French, "I'm Carole Marchand, from TI Security Services in New York. I'm calling to let you know about an unusual call we just received from the W.A.S.P. base _Pacifica_ in Australia."

"Oh?" he asked, though alarm bells were ringing in his ears already. _Pacifica,_ he thought. _The closest_ W.A.S.P _. base to here._

"A Lieutenant Rhine called, asking to confirm your identity and location." Marchand's eyes were dark and serious. "Clearly, we refused to give classified information, but they did tell us why they were asking their questions. W.A.S.P. came to the assistance of a man who had crashed his aeroplane into the Pacific."

Jeff's blood felt like it thickened, clotted in his veins. He gripped the arms of his chair.

"And?"

"And, sir," Marchand said, "upon questioning, the man claimed that his name was Jeff Tracy. Many of the details he gave appeared to match your life - he claimed he lived on his own private island, that he had five sons, that he was the owner of a company called Tracy Industries." She paused and tapped a few commands on an unseen keyboard. "I asked for them to transmit an image of the man who made these claims, and they complied."

"Show me," Jeff said.

With a nod, Marchand did.

The image that flashed up on the screen make Jeff's breath catch in his throat.

It was like him. There was no doubt about that. The man had the same hair, though less grey than Jeff's own. His appearance was strikingly similar. Not identical, but close enough that they looked like brothers. _And I don't have any brothers_ , Jeff thought. The man in the picture was younger, less lined in the face - but there was an uncanny glint in his eyes that made Jeff feel as though he was looking in a mirror.

The image flickered back to Marchand again.

"I know that is not you, sir," she said. "However, this person not only knows many details about your life, but also claims to be you _and_ bears a striking resemblance to you. We are concerned."

"As am I," Jeff said, leaning back. "I want you to find as much information about this as possible about this man. Try and see who he really is and what he's up to. Everything about this makes me uneasy."

"Yes sir," Marchand said. "Would you like me to send any additional security to your location?"

His security team always asked that question. Jeff always gave the same response.

"No, thank you," he said. "But I appreciate the concern."

Marchand nodded.

"Please keep us up to date with your movements," she said. "I will send a full report as soon as it has been complied."

"Do," Jeff said. "And send me a copy of that photograph."

"Yes, sir."

With that, Marchand cut the transmission. Jeff turned and wound his fingers together, leaning his elbows on the desk as he mulled the information around in his head.

 _A downed futuristic plane_ , he thought, _recovered by W.A.S.P., who wouldn't let the boys near the wreckage - and now W.A.S.P. rearing their heads again, this time saying they have a man who claims to be me. And that photograph - the resemblance was definitely there, even if it wasn't perfect. I don't like any of this at all._

He turned again and reached for the internal villa comm. system.

"Scott, Brains," he said. "My office, now. I need you to look at something."

He received two replies. One was confused, the other taut with concern. _And rightly so_ , he thought. _I think Scott was correct in thinking there was something strange going on with that crash. He didn't find any answers, and it seems we now have more questions than ever_...

 **~oOo~**

They had held him overnight in a cell. It was comfortable enough, even if the stiff blanket they had given him had the most retro pattern he had ever seen. Relatively well appointed, there was even a bookshelf. _Books._ Paper _books in a cell,_ Jeff thought _._ _Very, very strange._

Everything about the place was strange. If he squinted hard enough, he might not even have realised that it was a cell.

But it was a cell. A cell with a locked door and a window through which the sun never seemed to want to rise.

Pacing up and down its length, Jeff swept a hand through his greying hair. _What do they want with me?_ he asked. Then he stopped mid-pace and shook his head. _I know what they want. They want to know where I've come from. They want to know what secrets I hold. They see me as a threat, think I'm from some opposing force._ He chuckled, the sound edged with frustration. _I need to find a way to get out of here. They can't hold me here forever..._

It seemed, though, that was exactly their intent. Not another soul graced the cell until just after six a.m., when a guard appeared with food. He didn't receive any further visitors until noon, when the guard returned again.

He beckoned Jeff forward, his expression frozen with military sternness.

"Come with me," he said.

"I guess I don't have much of a choice," Jeff replied.

Another guard fell in step beside them as he was escorted through winding steel corridors, until eventually they reached another interview room.

Sheridan and Rivers were already waiting for him. The former gestured to an empty seat and smiled.

"Good morning," he said. "Sleep well?"

Jeff sat and bit his tongue against the barbed comment he wanted to deliver. _Sheridan has been decent toward me_ , he thought.

"As well as I could, considering the circumstances," he said instead.

Rivers was nowhere near as conciliatory.

"Mr Tracy," he said, curling his fingers against the table, "I'm giving you one last opportunity to tell us the truth. Who are you and where are you from?"

Barking out a laugh, Jeff crossed his arms. _This dance again._

"My name is Jeff Tracy. I'm from Kansas, originally, though I have my own island now. Impressed?"

Rivers wasn't laughing. Even Sheridan didn't crack a smile this time. That took the wind from Jeff's sails and he sat back, shaking his head.

"It's the truth," he said quietly. "It really is the truth."

"It might be what you believe," Rivers said. "But it's not the truth. We've confirmed the identity and location of the real Jeff Tracy - and you aren't him."

Looking from the cold face of the colonel to Sheridan's more sympathetic eyes, Jeff sat back.

"What are you going to do with me now?" he asked. "I'm not a criminal. You can't keep me locked up."

"Indeed," said Rivers. "And we have no intention of doing so. But it's apparent that you're labouring under some sort of delusion." He leaned in, now smiling - but there was nothing pleasant about the expression. It was more shark like than friendly. "The World Government states that have a legal duty of care to look after any John Does that we recover when they have no recollection of their identities." Rivers made a pyramid with his fingers and leaned in. "So unless you've suddenly had an attack of memory," he said, "we'll be transferring you to a secure unit in our medical facility until we can be sure that you'll be... _safe_ on your own."

Unable to help himself, Jeff turned his imploring eyes to Sheridan. The captain tried to keep his expression stoic, but by the tremble in his left hand, Jeff knew the idea did not sit comfortably with him.

"Please," he said, desperation rising in his throat. "Just let me contact my sons. Let me try and find out what is going on."

In a fit of pique, he slammed his hands onto the table. Sheridan and Rivers jumped back.

"God dammit," Jeff roared. "I am Jeff Tracy!"

Smirking, Rivers rose from the table and crossed to the door. He beckoned for the guard to enter again.

"No, Mr Doe," he said. "You most certainly are not." He turned to the guard. "Get him ready for transport back to medical."

With one final glance, Rivers _winked_ at Jeff, then turned on his heel and strode off. Sheridan hovered at the doorway.

"You have to believe me," Jeff said. "You just _have_ to."

When the guard tried to usher him out, Jeff wrenched his arm away.

"Don't touch me," he snarled. Then he looked at Sheridan again. " _Help_ me."

Hesitating for a moment, the captain shook his head.

"Ah'm sorry," he said. "Orders are orders."

Jeff found the flat of the guard's hand on his back, propelling him forward. Part of him wanted to scream out, to appeal to Sheridan once more. _Help me!_

But Jeff was a military man himself. Orders were always orders. And so instead, he turned his back on the other man and allowed himself to be led away.

To whatever fate was waiting for him.


	5. Chapter 5

"No _way_! No-freaking- _way_!"

Matthew launched himself across the apartment, enveloping both John and Elijah in a tight hug. Gordon, sensing mischief, dived in after them.

"Incoming!"

With a three-toned shriek, the clump of men went down, crashing hard onto the wooden floor. The shrieks were joined by a tinkling laugh and another - much smaller - body landed on top of the pile. Gordon wrapped an arm around Lyra and grinned.

"You're my niece, alright!" he said, eliciting another delighted laugh.

He then bellowed out his best _maniacal evil villain laugh_ before he rolled over to the side, pulling Lyra with him. She landed on his taut stomach, still chortling, pressing her face against his shirt.

Buried under a mass of flailing pale limbs, John coughed and tried to glare at Gordon. He did not succeed. Instead, he simply looked bulbous-eyed and panicked.

"Gordon!" he wheezed.

As the twins untangled themselves, Gordon shrugged, the grin still on his face. Grasping Lyra under her armpits, he set her on her feet and stood up himself.

"What?" he asked. "I'm just pleased for you."

John and the twins clambered to their feet, Matthew grinning like a madman.

"Nice one, Gords," he said.

Gordon took a shallow bow.

"I do my best."

Shaking his head, Elijah folded his arms.

"Well, I'm glad you're pleased," he said. "Now if I could get through the rest of this evening with all my bones intact, I would appreciate it."

Trying to look innocent, Gordon channels his inner schoolboy and nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Elijah raised an eyebrow and shook his head again. _Ah, yes,_ Gordon thought. _My inner schoolboy isn't very innocent..._

"Come on," John said, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulder. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes. Lyra, go wash up."

The five year old's face screwed up with annoyance, but Gordon kept the tantrum at bay.

"Race you to the bathroom!" he said.

In an instant, Lyra's face changed. Instead of indignation at being told what to do, her mouth twisted into a smile that said, _I'm going to win!_ And with that, she tore off, Gordon hot on her heels.

Pulling out her little plastic step, Gordon helped Lyra climb up. She grinned as he turned on the tap, then looked up at him expectantly. After checking the temperature of the water, Gordon squeezed a dollop of soap into her waiting palm, then took in a deep breath.

"We start with washing palm to palm," he sang, using the tune of 'If You're Happy and You Know It.' At the next line, Lyra joined in. "Between each finger let us rub. Now the back of the hands, it's such a simple plan. We washy washy clean scrub scrub."

By the time he was helping her towel off her hands, her bad temper was long gone.

"Uncle Gordie, you're so funny," Lyra said, hanging onto his jeans.

Gordon replaced the towel on the rack and smirked.

"And you're so funny _looking_ ," he said. "I think you're secretly a monkey!"

"No, no, no," Lyra said, now wrapping her tiny arms around his thigh. "I'm not a monkey. I'm a alien!"

Gordon pressed his hands to his mouth and let out a strangled cry.

"Oh _no_!" he said. "An alien! She's going to eat me!"

" _Raaaaaar_!"

Lyra pretended to gnaw on his leg; Gordon let out another shriek.

"Small kid and big kid," John called from the kitchenette, "please bring yourselves to the dinner table."

Gordon bent down and snatched Lyra into his arms, pressing his cheek to hers.

"Oh no," he said. "It's the scourge of the Galaxy, _Space Dad_! We must flee!"

Lyra pulled her face away, her expression stuck somewhere between a frown and a grin.

"Uncle Gordie," she said, "your face is all scratchy!"

Before he could threaten her with another attack by stubble, John called out again.

"Children, _dinner_ ," he said pointedly.

Gordon set Lyra back on the ground and shrugged.

"Time for eats," he said.

Hand in hand, they jogged to the dinner table.

 **~oOo~**

The next morning, John was up with the sunrise. He had just stacked the last of the plates in the cupboard as Elijah emerged from the bedroom, tousle-haired and yawning.

"Good morning," John said.

"Mrgh," was the sum total of the response he received.

Elijah grabbed the coffee pot with a clumsy hand and dragged a mug across the marble work surface. He drained half of it before he spoke again.

"Morning," he said eventually.

John chuckled and adjusted his glasses.

"You certainly enjoyed yourself last night," he said.

In celebration of their joint engagement announcement and adoption plans, they had invited Gordon and Matthew for dinner. While John had taken Lyra to bed early, falling asleep after reading her bedtime story - _Oops_ , he thought - the other three had stayed up past the witching hour. Indeed, they were still talking and laughing at 2am when John had awoken, and he'd had to chase Gordon and Matthew out.

While no alcohol was involved, the lack of sleep was wearing heavily on Elijah, who covered his mouth as he yawned again.

"It was that damn trivia game," he said. "It's so addictive."

"No," John said, wiping the worktop down before slinging the dishcloth over one shoulder. "What you're addicted to is being right."

Elijah raised a finger in objection but quickly lowered it again.

"Yes," he said. "Yes I am."

They woke Lyra and had a quick breakfast, before heading to the lounge to say their goodbyes.

"Bye-bye, Grandpa!" Lyra said as she flung herself into Jeff's waiting arms.

"Have a good trip, sweetheart," he said, cuddling her tightly.

"I will."

John smoothed down his daughter's hair and nodded at his father, smiling.

"Thanks for the time off," he said. "We'll be back sometime this evening."

"Keep me informed," Jeff said. "Safe journey." His expression became serious. "You flight path passes nearby the area where the unknown plane went down. Keep an eye out for problems. Alan will be tracking your flight."

"F.A.B., Dad," John said.

With that, the little family made their way to the small hangar where Tracy One and Two were kept, snug alongside the Ladybird – and, somewhere in the back, the de Havilland Tiger Moth.

In minutes, John was taxiing Tracy One onto the runway. Strapped snugly into her special safety harness, Lyra grinned from ear to ear.

"Now," John said, glancing over his shoulder. "What do we do in case of emergency?"

"Belt and braces, Dad!" She plucked at her harness. "I'm in my belt and if you say so, I brace!"

"That's my girl," he said. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave Elijah a wink. "Now, let's go buy some jewellery."

 **~oOo~**

It seemed that no matter what he said, they were convinced that he was crazy. At least, that was the impression Jeff had received all day. Having been returned to the medical facility after his encounter with Rivers, Jeff had been subject to a barrage of tests, interviews, evaluations… Then he'd been allowed around six hours sleep, before it all started again.

Sitting back on the thin mattress, Jeff sighed. He tapped the back of his head against the painted plaster wall. _They're just using this as an excuse,_ he thought. _They know I'm not really crazy but they also can't pin me down with any crime. So they're keeping me here under false pretences. They're waiting for me to break._

The problem was, of course, that he couldn't break. He wasn't lying. He wasn't keeping secrets. _And that's what I can't get them to believe…_

With a sigh, Jeff closed his eyes and thought back to the last day of his real life. He'd given the go-ahead for Brains's final design of Thunderbird S – and then he'd given Alan a hard time over not completing his research paper on stealth technologies. Feeling a pang of guilt, he sighed. _I shouldn't have been so hard on him_ , he thought. _I should have just given him another day, instead of reading him the riot act_. It wasn't the last thing he had said to Alan, but doubtless it had made a lasting impression.

Kayo had come to him with new intelligence on her uncle's whereabouts. He had been spotted in South Africa, nosing around old uranium mines. _And that's the last thing we need to let him get his hands on_ , Jeff thought. _He'll wreak all kinds of damage on the environment and on the population if he can weasel his way into the nuclear black market_.

Scott, Virgil and Gordon had just returned from a mission in China and were full of smiles and stories about how they saved all fifty trapped miners.

And John. Jeff opened his eyes, tracing the path of cracks through the ceiling paint. The last conversation he'd had with his red-haired son was the same as the last five, the last ten, the last _twenty_. All business and seriousness, and very few smiles.

 _When did you become so serious, John?_ Jeff asked. _What happened to the little boy who never stopped asking questions about stars and space and aliens?_ Leaning forward, Jeff stared down at his fingernails, counting the little ridges. _Is it my fault?_ he asked. _Did I do this to you? Did I take away your childhood, the opportunities of young adulthood? Or are you just like this and I'm overanalysing?_

All of the boys had reacted differently to the evolution of International Rescue. From the moment he heard about it, all Scott had wanted to do was fly One. _He ate, slept, and breathed that plane from conception to completion_. Virgil had loved the idea of being part of a rescue organization, of giving something back to the world. His empathetic nature had never quite meshed with his position of privilege; the silver spoon tasted bitter on his tongue. And so, Virgil had seen IR as his chance to be something more than a playboy son of a billionaire.

Alan had grown up with International Rescue. He'd been not much more than a toddler when the idea began to bloom, and he'd sat in prototype cockpits and played with mocked up, dummy tech. If Scott ate, slept and breathed Thunderbird One, Alan ate, slept and breathed International Rescue as a whole.

For Gordon, taking a position with IR had been the new gold he needed to chase. At fourteen, he had become one of the fastest freestyle swimmers in the world. Where could he go from that? After blazing a spectacular trail at the Olympics, everything had seemed pale in comparison. Jeff knew this all too well, for he found his son's gold medal stuffed in a sock drawer, nothing more than jewellery for mothballs. Taking command of the little yellow sub had been the only thing that kept Gordon going in the wake of success.

And then there was John. John who had completed two degrees simultaneously. John who'd been offered a PhD. John who'd published his first research paper at only eighteen. John who had walked away from the scholarships and successes, who'd climbed a silken rope into space and barely emerged from his zero-gravity nest. _I just wish I could know for sure that he's happy_ , Jeff thought. _He's so hard to read and I know I never get the whole story with him… It's half-truths and white lies – all veiled in that seriousness he's knitted around himself. If I just_ knew _he was alright, I'd let it go. But there's something that tells me he's not…_

At that thought, Jeff shook his head and squeezed his eyes against the fury that threatened to emerge. _He'll be going out of his mind,_ Jeff thought. _They all will. I just wish I knew what the hell was happening. I wish I knew where I_ am. _But I'm stuck in this godforsaken hospital, with a thousand locked doors between me and the answers I need._

As if the universe was listening, there was a beep at the door. Sitting upright, Jeff snapped his head to the side as a figure entered.

Before he could see who it was, a jumpsuit was thrown in his face.

"Put that on," a familiar voice said.

Jeff wrenched the grey material from his head.

"Sheridan?" he asked.

The captain nodded and closed the door behind him, blocking off the small window with a hat he held in one hand.

"Yeah," he said. "Ah'm not sure what the heck is goin' on, but Ah think Ah need to get you outta here. There's somethin' happenin' out in the ocean and, even if you don't know what it is, I'd bet you're the best person to try'n figure out _why_ it's happenin'."

He turned his back to give Jeff some privacy. Then, when Jeff was snug inside the cadet uniform, Sheridan tossed him the hat.

"Set that nice 'n low over your eyes," he said. "Follow me. Don't speak. Salute everyone – you're subordinate even to the fish tanks in that uniform. And then, when we're out, you're gonna tell me exactly what the hell _really_ happened."

Not sparing any time to think about what was happening, Jeff jammed the hat down on his head, adjusted the jumpsuit, and then followed Sheridan out of the cell-come-hospital room.

They were out within three minutes, and to Jeff, the salty tang of sea air never smelled sweeter.


	6. Chapter 6

Uneventful. That was the best way to describe the journey. John readjusted his heading by a few degrees as they continued to sail above the clouds, through the peace and majesty of the sky above the Pacific. _And I'm glad it's been an uneventful flight,_ he thought. _Yesterday's unexpected announcement made quite enough excitement for one week!_

It was still difficult to get his head around the idea that he was engaged. _Engaged, me? The eternal loner? Mr Unromantic?_ He stifled a chuckle and shook his head, feeling the soft fronds of his fringe brush over his forehead. He could hardly call himself the eternal loner any longer. He had been with Elijah for over four years, and what a four years they had been.

Glancing over his shoulder, John took in the sight of his partner - _Fiancé_ , he reminded himself - and his daughter, Lyra's head nestled on Elijah's arm. Both were deep in sleep. The sight was enough to warm even the coldest of hearts.

Suppressing another chuckle, John returned his attention to Tracy One's controls and the big blue that spread out around them like a picnic blanket, checked with white clouds

 _I'm so lucky,_ he thought. _Even though a lot of...unpleasantness…has happened over the past half a decade, I've come out on the other side still fighting._ Thinking about the peaceful scene behind him, John grinned again, feeling the smile spread out easily and widely. _I guess it helps that I've got a lot to fight for, now..._

To say that his recovery had been easy would be a fallacy. It hadn't. Two traumas in such close succession had almost broken him. John shook his head, hands tightening temporarily on the controls. _Grandma says what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger,_ he thought. _Well, I must be nigh-on invincible by now! Apart from my eyes, of course. They're not invincible…_

John tried not to shudder. The incident with Malaya still haunted his dreams. The gouging had lasted less than two seconds but it had felt like a century of constant torment. _It was cruel. It was unnecessary. And, forgive me, Mom, but I am so glad she's dead._

He hadn't seen the shot that killed her - blinded as he was. But he had heard about it afterwards, in the darkness of damage, with Elijah rubbing small circles on the back of his hand. _To trust your brother to shoot less than half a foot from your head,_ John thought. _It's amazing. It shows how much they trust each other. I have no trouble understanding that, though. I'd let Gordon do that any day - if it was needed._

Adjusting his glasses and wishing he had worn his contacts, John sighed. _I hope nothing like that ever happens again._

Fate is a fickle mistress. She does not like to be tempted.

And so, when there was a jolt and a jerk that awakened his sleeping passengers, and the big blue around them started to tilt, John cursed through his teeth.

"Shit!"

Then, they started to go down, down, down.

 **~oOo~**

Sheridan was some kind of magician. That was the only explanation for how they managed to escape the medical facility without detection.

Jeff shook his head as he was bundled into the back of a waiting car. _An actual combustion engine car!_ he thought. _How can this place be nearly fifteen years ahead of my – time, universe, whatever you want to call it – and yet be so…backward?_

In the driver's seat was another W.A.S.P. officer, clearly a subordinate of Sheridan's. When the captain gave the word, the woman slid the car into gear and they pulled off. It wasn't a jerky movement, not abrupt at all. Not obviously an escape. For of course, Jeff knew, if they drew attention to themselves, they would be rumbled.

Taking the cap from his head, Jeff ran his fingers through his greying hair.

"Thanks," he said.

Sheridan looked over his shoulder; his characteristic smile was gone. Jeff's heart skipped.

"Don't thank me yet," Sheridan said. "We ain't outta the woods. An' anyway, they'll be lookin' for you."

"Surely they'll have seen you," Jeff said. "They'll know you helped me escape."

Sheridan cracked a smile then; it was sly.

"I learned a thing or two from my old captain," he said. "Sometimes to do the right thing, you gotta do a few wrong things first. I made sure the cameras were 'down for maintenance' an' we didn't go out the way I came in." He gave a little snort. "An' anyway, captains are a dime a dozen around here. Heck, half the doctors are captains. I won't have stood out, an' I know how not to be seen."

The lieutenant's control of the car was smooth, a far cry from Jeff's last attempt at driving a gear-shift car. _That was many a year ago,_ he thought. _Dad's old Thunderbird - still in storage at home_.

He was struck by a pang of sorrow. _I need to get back_ , he thought, determination rising anew. _Problem is, I don't even know where I am now... All I know is, I'm in the wrong place._

After a short drive, they pulled into another secure compound. Sheridan gestured for Jeff to put his hat back on as they approached the security check.

The guard, holding what Jeff recognised as an old semi-automatic weapon - _Old to me, anyway_ , he thought - looked in.

"Welcome back, Captain Sheridan," the guard said. "Shipping out?"

"We'll be out in the ocean blue again in about an hour," Sheridan said. "And I thank God for it. I can't stand bein' on dry land for long."

Chuckling, the guard waved them on through the checkpoint.

Not realising he had been holding his breath, Jeff exhaled.

"Relax," Sheridan said. "The _Barracuda_ is a two man ship - me 'n Coral here are the only crew. Once we get you on board, we'll be safe. An' then we're headin' back to the crash site so you can tell us everything you know."

Nodding, Jeff allowed himself to be driven to the dock - and found himself bundled back into the same ship that had rescued him. And then they launched, disappearing into the gloomy Pacific depths once more.

 **~oOo~**

"What's happening?" Elijah asked, his eyes wide and red-rimmed as he tried to adjust to sudden wakefulness.

John shook his head tersely as he wrestled with the controls. Nothing was responding. It was like someone had grabbed onto Tracy One's nose cone and was wrenching them in the wrong direction: down.

"We're being pulled off course," he said. "I can't shake it, whatever 'it' is."

All his rescue instincts began to kick in as he struggled to bring the plane's nose back up. As they plunged through the cloud layer, Lyra whimpered.

"Daddy, what's happening?"

John heard Elijah comfort the girl, wishing he could reach back and tell her everything would be alright. Instead, he reached for the comm. But before he could make the call, Alan was already on the line.

" _John, -at's hap-ning?_ "

The ocean loomed huge and dark before them as the cabin filled with the harsh trill of alarms and the taint of sweat.

"Alan, I'm being pulled off course," John said. "We need assistance, _now_!"

"- _ohn_ , - _bird One-_ "

The rest was lost to static as the alarms kept sounding their death knell.

"Brace!" he shouted, still struggling with the controls, his heartbeat hammering in his mouth.

No matter what he tried, he couldn't regain control over the diving plane. _Ten seconds to impact! If I could just bring her back up -_

Bright light invaded the cockpit, searing into John's eyes. It was a swirling mass of _something_ , with dark cylinders pouring from it. _What the -_

The last thing he heard was his daughter's cries and another burst of static on the line.

Then there was only white.

 **~oOo~**

Hovering behind the pilot's seat, Jeff tightened his grip on the headrest until his knuckles went white. On the journey to the co-ordinates where his plane lay in ruins, he had told Sheridan everything he remembered about the crash. How everything had been calm and normal. That he had been talking to his son - and then he saw white and… _Then I was being pulled from the wreckage by Lieutenant Coral, here._

"I can't make any sense of this," Jeff said.

Sheridan turned from the hydrophone controls and gave him a wan smile.

"None of this makes any sense," he said. "But then, Ah don't think a lot of this world makes sense. Call me jaded, but... We got disasters happening left right and center, we got threats from under the water, we got threats from other planets, and now some kind of interdimensional… _thing_." He shook his head. "Ah don't claim to even begin to understand what the heck is goin' on in this world."

"Sir," Lieutenant Coral said, sounding reluctant to interrupt his musings. "We're approaching the crash site now."

"Who've we got floating around the place, hmm?" Sheridan said, turning his attention to the hydrophone data. "Looks like we've got a few guppies and no big fish," he said. "The _Hammerhead_ has moved off. But she'll most likely be back soon.

Coral gave Sheridan a sidelong glance and frowned.

"You're not planning on doing anything that would make the shark angry at us, are you?" she asked.

Sheridan shook his head, smiling slightly.

"No, Coral," he said. "Ah'm not." He glanced up at Jeff. "Ah couldn't ask for a better pilot than Coral," he said. "She always keeps me right."

Jeff smile back, taking a closer look at the young woman. She was striking, her dark skin luminescent in the bright lighting of the submarine's control room. Her eyes were liquid and deep, like still pools. He looked away before she saw his glance. _She reminds me of Kayo_ , he thought. _I wonder how she is? I hope she isn't blaming herself for my disappearance._

He knew she would be, and he knew that nothing would make her feel differently.

Through the thick glass that stood between air and water, Jeff watched as the little research ships came into view. They were circling and dipping in the deep, their search lights focused on one area. And as the _Barracuda_ drew nearer, Jeff's lungs juddered like an ailing fuel line. He could see what they were circling – what used to be his plane.

"Looks like they're getting ready to tow the parts," Coral said. "They're getting in position to fire tow lines."

Before anyone could respond, the scene in front of them changed. The small submarines fled, rising up towards the surface like a scattered shoal.

"What the?" Sheridan asked. "Coral, get us over there."

"I'm on it, sir," she said.

With a jolt of speed, Coral brought the _Barracuda_ forward. Jeff gripped the headrest even more tightly as Sheridan tried to hail the other ships.

"- _tay away_ ," a voice came through the crackle. " _Debris- more fall- plane-_ "

"Dammit," Sheridan said. "Must be another one of those… _things_...opening – or whatever they do." He glanced at the hydrophone data. "On your right, Lieutenant!"

Coral jerked the ship to the side as something penetrated the surface of the ocean, going at such speeds that it was still hurtling in spite of the buoyancy of the water. A second, a third, a fourth all came down – and on and on it went.

"What the hell are those?" Jeff asked as he rocked between the seats.

"I'll eat my hat it they aren't more barrels of nuclear waste," Sheridan said through gritted teeth. "Someone's been dumping it in the ocean, but we ain't ever seen any planes or ships in the area that could be responsible."

Trying the comm. again, this time he got a clearer response.

"Barracuda, _this is the_ Clownfish research scout ship. _We've received your transmission_ ," a light voice said. " _It was another dumping incident."_

"Didja happen to get any data from above the surface with those newfangled sensors of yours, _Clownfish_?" Sheridan asked. "Was there a ship up there? A plane? Anything?"

The light voice grew dark.

" _We did this time,_ Barracuda _,_ " the woman said. " _But I don't think it was responsible. It was too small, just a private jet. But, worse yet… It's gone._ "

Jeff's blood ran cold. Sheridan cocked his head to the side.

"Gone?" he asked. "What do you mean gone? Has it gone _down_?"

" _No, sir_ ," the woman said. " _The plane has totally vanished. It hasn't come down but it's not in the air any longer, either._ _It's just like when that jet came down in the ocean. We had no record of it in the air until the dumping started, and then it came down – just out of the blue._ "

There was a beat of silence before Sheridan spoke again.

"Understood, _Clownfish_ ," he said. "We'll stay in the area and keep a look out. The _Hammerhead_ is coming back in. I can see her on the 'phone."

He cut the comm. and turned to face Jeff, whose face was ashen.

"Sounds familiar," Sheridan said.

Soundlessly, Jeff nodded. Yes, indeed it did.


	7. Chapter 7

Centrifugal force kept his feet on the clear ground. Below him, stars glimmered, winking in the darkness. As he walked, the gravity ring turned. Then there was green and blue beneath him. It was calm, serene, with swirls of white cloud swarming over the ragged bulk of Asia.

Then the serenity was broken.

" _Mayday! Mayday_!"

John's ears tuned to the cry and he picked up the pace, jogging to the holographic globe in the gravity ring's control centre. A little yellow icon was blinking over the Pacific - an impending plane crash. Nothing unusual - but when he realised _exactly_ where the plane was going down, his blood ran cold. _Are you serious?_

Delicate hands dancing over the controls, John tried to patch a holo call through. All the craft would accept was audio.

"This is International Rescue," he said. "We've received your transmission."

" _Alan! Thank God."_

John logged the name. _Curious._

" _We're going down! Send -_ "

Before John could respond, the airwaves were filled with the sickening crunch of metal and then... Nothing. The comm. line went dead. John's brows drew together.

"Hello? Are you there?"

Still nothing but silence. And on the holographic globe, the little icon now turned red. Now a bona fide crash - right in the spot where his father's plane had been seen last.

Mouth dry, John reached for the communicator on his sash and activated the link to the island. The light painted his fingertips white.

"International Rescue," he said. "We have a situation."

 **~oOo~**

This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. All he could feel was pain. It was throbbing in his head, searing along every bone and sinew in his body. Jaws of metal tore at his pale skin, the steering yoke was somewhere between his ribs, and he was cold, cold, _cold_.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't lift his head, nor shift his body round to see what was left behind him. He couldn't even open his eyes - and even if he could, they were of no use. His glasses had been sacrificed to the sea.

 _Lyra... Elijah..._

Maybe they were already dead. Maybe he was, too.

 **~oOo~**

"There she is," Virgil said as he brought Two in close to the crash site.

The craft was small. The fuselage was still intact but the wings were scattered to the waves. Virgil squinted as he swung Two around. Beside him, Gordon stood on his tiptoes, glancing out the cockpit window.

"It looks kinda old," Gordon said. "Almost an antique. Maybe that's why it went down."

John's voice sounded through the cockpit comm.

" _Whether it's old or not_ ," he said, " _there's at least one person trapped down there and we need to get them out_."

Gordon hopped onto the lift that would deliver him down to the module bay.

"I'm on my way," he said.

With a nod, he started to descend.

In moments, he was in the cargo module. But he didn't head for Four's cockpit. In fact, Four wasn't even there. Instead, he grabbed his helmet, clicking it into place, and waited for the drop. His stomach didn't even jolt when the module hit the water, for the landing was cushioned by Brains' ingenious designs.

"Opening module door," Virgil's voice sounded through his helmet speakers.

The brightness of the afternoon sun spilled into the module and, forlorn and floating in the water nearby, was the shattered remains of the downed aircraft. Gordon jogged to the left wall of the module and grabbed what he needed.

"I've got the cable," he said, hooking the magnetic line to his sash. "Off I go."

Without any further waiting, Gordon took a running leap off the end of the lowered door and sliced through the churning surface of the sea like a merman. Behind him, the reel of cable unfurled, whirring and spinning as he swam.

It didn't take long for him to reach the fuselage. He surfaced and unhooked the line from his sash, jamming it against the metal side of the plane. With a clunk, it activated, and it was tethered safely to the module.

"The line's attached," Gordon said. He pressed his face close to the cracked but intact cockpit glass. "There are one, two adults and - holy guppies, there's a kid in here."

Gordon's chest tightened as the child turned its face to him.

" _What's their status_?" Virgil asked.

"The two adults are unconscious," Gordon said. "But the kid-"

The young girl's eyes widened when they locked with his. Gordon choked on his breath, nearly losing his footing on the jagged stump where a wing had once been.

"Christ. John, do you have something to tell us?" Gordon asked. "Because this kid is your _double_."

Inside the cockpit, the little girl was screaming. She was writhing against her restraints and reaching for him, long blond hair breaking free from a braid - and dipped in blood.

" _Focus, Gordon_ ," Virgil said. " _You've attached the cable. Now I need you to be the rudder as I reel you in._ "

"Understood," Gordon said, tearing his eyes from the child.

Pulse racing and brain afire with questions, he clambered around to the opposite side of the fuselage. The girl's bright blue eyes followed him. Her lips were still parted in a scream.

"Take us in, Thunderbird Two," Gordon said.

Slow and steady so as not to damage the crashed aircraft further, Virgil pulled the cable in, Gordon operating as a guide to bring it in safe and straight.

As they were towed, Gordon caught a better glimpse of the two others in the cockpit. The blond pilot was slumped over the controls, contorted and bleeding. Further back, another man - red-headed and pale as milk - was hanging from his harness, blood pouring from one temple. And beside him, the girl was still screaming.

"Virg," Gordon said, "I think we're gonna need to tag out. These guys look to be in bad shape and you know more of that medical jazz than I do. I don't even know if I can move these guys."

As they were hefted into the body of the module, John's voice sounded through his helmet again.

" _I'll route the medical data from your HUD to me_ ," he said. " _We'll triage together_."

"The almighty voice from on-high," Gordon said. "Praise be!"

He received only a snort in reply.

The automated ramps brought them the rest in the way in. Bright white lights flickered on as Virgil keyed in the command to close the module door. As he did so, Gordon felt around for a mechanical release catch on the wreck's cockpit canopy. _This thing looks old enough to have one - aha!_

It unlatched with a clunk. As Gordon pulled it back, the girl's screams erupted from inside, explosive in tone and volume.

"Uncle _Gordy_!"

He froze. _Did I hear that right?_

She was sobbing, her face swollen with sorrow and fear.

"Help me, Uncle Gordy!" she cried. "Get Uncle Virgil, and Uncle Scottie. Dad's _dead_!"

 _Gordy, Scottie, Virgil.._. Dad? _What the_ hell _is happening here?_ Gordon thought. The pain in the little girl's face made his hands shake.

"Are you guys getting this?" he asked.

" _Questions later, Gordon_ ," Virgil said, the tone of his voice commanding. " _Triage now_."

Shaking the fuzz from his head, Gordon pressed the side of his helmet to activate the heads up display.

"John," he said. "You should be receiving telemetry now."

No answer. Gordon gritted his teeth.

"Thunderbird Five, respond!"

Like the snap of a whip, his older brother's voice sounded once again, but there was a tightness to the tone that had nothing to do with the helmet speakers.

"Receiving data now," John said.

Gordon moved his helmet over the casualties, but his gaze kept returning to the little girl.

The girl with John's face.

 **~oOo~**

It was all _very_ confusing. Far too confusing for any five year old girl. Worst of all, it was so _unfair_. Nothing was the way it should have been.

Firstly, she had thought Uncle Gordon had come to save them. Because that's what her uncles and her daddies did. That's what _she_ would do when she was a grown up girl. Like Aunt Tin-Tin. But it wasn't Uncle Gordon - not really. He called himself Gordon and he swam like Gordon, but he wasn't. His hair was the wrong colour and his face wasn't scratchy enough. No. He wasn't _her_ Uncle Gordy.

Secondly, he was too short. As he lifted her from the wreck, Lyra had noticed that she wasn't far enough from the ground. His arms were just as strong but he wasn't her Gordy. No way.

Thirdly, he looked scared. And her uncles _never_ looked scared.

Apart from all of that, her daddies were hurt - not dead like she had thought, but hurt. Badly. And now she was sitting in a place she didn't know, with people she didn't know, drinking soda that she'd never had before.

At least she had a swirly straw.

"Are you enjoying that, honey?"

Lyra kept her head pointing down but flicked her gaze up at the old woman. She was as old as her grandpa but she wasn't. She didn't have a grandma - only a _great_ -grandma. And she was about a hundred years old.

Dad told her not to talk to strangers but also not to be rude. And Lyra wasn't entirely sure if these people were strangers or not. So she responded - with as few words as possible.

"Yes, ma'am."

Dad always taught her to be polite, too.

"That's good."

They were sitting at a table in a glass-walled kitchen. Lyra's bare feet swung high above the pale tiles. The clothes they had given her were big. _Really_ big. Stupid big. But the t-shirt she wore as a dress was soft and blue, so that was good.

And the soda was nice. Kind of appley.

"So do you remember any more about what happened?"

Keeping her lips pursed around the straw, Lyra shook her head.

"No, ma'am."

That was sort of a lie. And her daddies did tell her that lies were bad - and Grandpa _hated_ them - but sometimes lies were okay. Or at least, they were sometimes easier. Saying the wind blew over a paper cup was easier than tattle-taleing on yourself and saying that _you_ spilled it. Right now, it was easier to say she didn't remember - simply because she didn't want to remember.

 _Never_. That was when she wanted to hear that tone from her daddy again.

" _Brace_!"

Feeling fat tears brim in the corners of her eyes, Lyra closed them, relinquished her grip on the soda and buried her face in her arms. _Don't cry_...

But then her daddy's voice appeared from thin air - Dad, not _Dadai_.

Lyra looked up again, her face burning. She saw a blue face hovering in the air. It was Dad -and yet it was not - not the way he should have been.

"Grandma, I'm just checking in -"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. It was cut off by Lyra's screams – and the sound of a soda can tipping over the edge of the table.


	8. Chapter 8

Jeff gripped the edge of his desk - and he knew he looked exactly like his son. Even through the screen, it was clear that Alan's face was tight with a cocktail of emotion. There was anger. There was confusion. But most of all, there was fear. And Jeff knew exactly why. _It had to be John, didn't? The kid can't catch a break..._

"It's gone," Alan said again, shaking his head. "The plane, it just...disappeared off the radar. They're gone."

For the longest moment, no one spoke. The lounge was full, bodies drawn by the emergency klaxon and glued in place by the news. The heaviness of Alan's words hung in the air, pushing out the oxygen to leave only stunned silence in its place.

Eventually, someone broke.

"What do you mean, they're _gone_?"

The harshness of Matthew's tone cut through the soundlessness like a knife. Jeff's head snapped up and he caught the man's gaze, giving him a look to ward off the coming storm of emotion.

"Let's look at the facts," Jeff said, his tone brooking no battles. "Alan lost contact with Tracy One. There's a possibility that they've gone down. Virgil and Gordon, take Thunderbirds Two and Four out to the crash site."

Nodding, his two sons disappeared towards the craft. Their faces were hard.

" _It's within a mile of the area in which the strange plane went down before_ ," Alan said. " _There's a strong possibility there are W.A.S.P. vessels in the area_."

Jeff nodded, stern-faced.

"Get them on the line," he said. "If the plane's gone down, they'll already know."

Alan said nothing more, for the screen had already returned to his portrait. Doubtless, he was already contacting W.A.S.P.

For a moment, there was silence again. Jeff looked down; his grip was still vice-like in the edge of the desk. His gaze flicked up to the line of portraits on the wall. His eyes settled on the one to the very left.

Then his gaze shifted again, this time stopping to rest on a near-translucent face. Matthew's burst of anger had flickered out, snuffed by a gust of fear.

He opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

Jeff kept a tight hold on his desk, as if it was the only thing keeping him afloat. He looked back at the portrait to the left.

Blond hair. Blue eyes.

Gone again.

 **~oOo~**

In the murky sea depths, there was nothing to see. But when a transmission cut through the dark silence, Jeff's heart froze.

" _Calling any W.A.S.P. vessel in the area_ ," a voice called over the radio. " _This is International Rescue_."

It was like a strained echo through time, not quite right and yet familiar enough to still his heartbeat.

"Alan," he whispered.

Sheridan looked over his shoulder, eyeballing him as he responded to the call.

"This is the _Barracuda_ ," he said. "Long time to hear."

His words were dry but Jeff wasn't listening to him. His attention was focused on the disembodied voice on the other end of the line.

"Barracuda," it said. "I was tracking a flight in your area and it seems to have disappeared. Considering what happened in the area recently, I thought you might have seen it go down."

As Sheridan replied with a negative, Jeff replayed the words over and over. He rolled the sounds around, hearing the similarities, the differences. It was older...but it was _him_.

"We haven't seen anything, International Rescue," Sheridan said. "No downed planes, anyway."

There was a moment of silence, pulled tight as a bow. Jeff knew exactly what was going through the mind of a man who both was and was not his son. _He knows there's more to this,_ he thought. _He just knows._

"...alright, _Barracuda_ ," the voice said. "But our craft are zeroing in on your location now. We need to carry out a search and... We would appreciate it if we were allowed to carry it out. The last time, our crew was warned away."

 _Their craft are zeroing in..._ More sons and yet not sons. More confusion. More questions...

"We'll let them have a look," Sheridan said. "There's nothing much to see - 'cept for some illegally dumped nuclear waste. If your crew happens to catch the culprit, let us know."

" _F.A.B_., Barracuda."

Noiselessly, Jeff mouthed the letters. _F.A.B., just like us_... Sheridan caught his eye again.

"We'll stay in the area," he said, partly to Jeff and partly over the comm. "I'll make sure you're allowed to complete your investigation."

" _Thank you_ ," the voice said. " _Our craft will be at the scene in one minute_."

That was one of the longest minutes of Jeff Tracy's life. As long as the minute that followed the first time that Lucy told him she was pregnant. As long as the minute that lingered on into hours after he was told of her death.

Then when he saw the little yellow sub descend into the water, he could not help but walk forward and press his fingertips to the thickened cockpit glass.

"Gordon..."

Sheridan shook his head again. Coral kept her hands firmly on the controls.

"I still can't believe Gordon Tracy is part of International Rescue," Sheridan said.

"If it's the same as in my...time, universe, whatever you want to call it," Jeff said.

Sheridan's fingers twitched over the comm. control. But he drew them back.

"Best not call in, I guess," he said. "Don't want to muddy the water too much."

Reluctantly, Jeff nodded. He had heard one son-not-son already; the temptation to hear another was almost too great. _It could be like Pandora's Box,_ he thought _. Who knows what harm it might cause?_

So instead they said nothing, and watched as Thunderbird Four slipped into the ocean depths before them.

Still yellow. Still small.

But not the same.

 **~oOo~**

When Lyra screamed, two things happened. The first was that John looked affronted. The second was that the kid bolted.

Within a minute, Gordon was on her tail.

"Whoa, whoa!" he said as they skidded around another corner. "Slow down, speedy!"

His words were useless, though; she kept running. They spiraled around the sunken couch area several times, frustration and amusement rising in Gordon in equal measure.

"I feel as if we're going around in circles, here," he said.

The child stopped at that. And she simply _stared_.

"That's not _funny_ , Uncle Gordy!"

The conviction in her voice was razor sharp. But then her words came back to slice at her again. As her eyes welled up, Gordon's heart cracked even further. He stepped forward - but she fled.

" _No_!"

This time, though, she didn't get far – for she ran straight into Virgil's legs. Bouncing off, she skidded across the floor, spread-eagled with long blond hair fanning out in a tangled halo. Coming to a halt underneath the line of portraits, there was no sound for the longest moment.

After a beat, Virgil jolted into action.

"I'm sorry, kid!" he said, falling to his knees at her side. "Are you okay, honey?"

Gordon jogged over and watched the play of emotion on her smooth face. Her blue eyes flicked from Virgil to Gordon and back again. Her mouth gathered into a tight zero. Then the blue disappeared as fat globs of salty sorrow slipped down her cheeks again.

"I want my _dads_!" Lyra wailed, the words so tainted with pain that Gordon's heart cracked even further.

He knelt down.

"Your dads are resting up," he said. "They need it after your crash. But they'll be fine."

The words did little to comfort her. Gordon looked at Virgil, whose face was set like stone. With that look on his face, Gordon knew exactly what his brother was about to do.

And sure enough, Virgil leaned forward and scooped the little girl up into his arms.

This time she didn't try to run. Instead, she wound her skinny fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her face into the flannel at his shoulder. Virgil rubbed circles on her back, gently shushing her.

"It's alright," he said softly. "You're safe here."

The girl said something in reply but the words were lost into his shirt. Gordon rose slowly, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides.

"I'll get a washcloth," he said. "And judging by the amount of sniffling going on, maybe a new shirt for you too."

Virgil was too busy comforting the kid to take much notice of the attempt at humour, so Gordon slipped off.

He took the steps to the kitchen two at time and when he got to the bottom, he saw his grandmother in conference with his space-bound brother, hovering over the kitchen table like a blue ghost.

Grandma turned to him as he fished in a drawer for a cloth.

"Well, that sounded like a kerfuffle," she said.

"It certainly was," Gordon replied as he plucked up a soft dishcloth. There was a waft of laundry detergent as he unfurled it. "It might be an idea for you –" he flicked the cloth in John's direction before running it under the tap "- to keep your holographic face out of sight for a while. Or at least, don't make any sudden appearances. You nearly scared the kid half to death."

John's only response was to raise one eyebrow. Then he turned his attention back to their grandmother.

" _I'm still not sure I agree with Virgil's choice to bring them back to the island_ ," he said. " _We don't know who they really are_."

Before Gordon could interject with a cutting response, he was beaten to it by Grandma.

"Young man," she said, waving a finger at the hologram, "I challenge you to come down here, look at that kid and one of her fathers and tell me they aren't welcome here. Honestly, if you bleached your hair, you'd be identical to that blond man lying unconscious in the sick room."

Frowning, John shook his head.

" _I still don't like it_."

"Like it or lump it," Grandma Tracy said, folding her arms, "it's happening."

Barely suppressing a chuckle, Gordon stuck his tongue out at his older brother before giving their grandmother a quick hug.

"I love you, Grams," he said.

And with that, he bounded back up the stairs again.

When he reached the top, Virgil's uncanny knack for comforting children had taken hold. The kid was no longer crying. Rather, she was ensconced in his arms as they walked back and forth in front of the line of portraits.

"That's Scott," Lyra said, "but his hair's all funny."

"How so?" Virgil asked, adjusting his grip around her skinny torso.

The girl reached up to pet the top of his dark quiff.

"It's supposed to be this colour," she said. "And your hair is supposed to be that colour. And not as tall." The she looked at the third portrait from the left. "That's Uncle Allie, but he looks like a baby in this picture."

Gordon reached them at that point, handing the moistened cloth over to Virgil.

"Allie is a baby," he said.

Shaking his head, Virgil accepted the cloth and started dabbing it on the girl's blotchy face.

"And you," she said, her words muffled by Virgil's machinations, "have the wrong colour hair too. My Gordy has hair like a carrot."

When her eyes reappeared from beneath the cloth, they were narrow with anger – as if nothing that had happened that day had caused more affront than Gordon having the wrong hair colour. He did his best not to laugh.

"Me, a redhead?" he asked, splaying his fingers on his chest. "I think not. One in the family is enough."

Virgil chuckled and paced a little further to the right. Bypassing Gordon's portrait, the in-the-flesh version apparently, offensive enough, she reached her fingers out towards John's.

"Daddy," she said. The she cocked her head to the side. "But…not. Sort of not. I think?" Her voice trembled again. "I don't know!"

Quickening his pace, Virgil swept her to the next picture.

"And who's that?" he asked, patting her cheeks with the towel again.

Sniffling, Lyra squinted.

"I don't know," she said. "It looks a little like Auntie Tin-Tin, but only a little."

"Tin-Tin?" Gordon asked. "Isn't that the little redhead dude with –"

Virgil held out a hand to stop the rest of his comment. Gordon snapped his lips shut.

"Who do you mean?" Virgil asked.

Lyra cocked her head to the side as she stared some more.

"Tin-Tin is Uncle Allie's wife. My cousin Adam is their kid. And they're having another baby, too."

"Alan, _married_?" Gordon said, the words exploding from his mouth of their own accord. "He's just a kid!"

"Obviously not wherever they're from – or whatever," Virgil said, brow creasing with confusion. "I still don't understand any of this. Brains is carrying out tests on the wreckage and I think he mentioned something about DNA analyses as well. And John's checking every satellite and database he can find to see if something was recorded at the time of the crash. For all intents and purposes, it seems as if they just appeared out of thin air."

Gordon's throat tightened.

"Just like Dad disappeared into thin air. It can't be a co-incidence."

"No, it can't," Virgil said. "But at the same time, we don't know anything of use about what's happened."

"Hopefully we'll catch a break over this whole thing, soon."

At that, the comm. sounded. But instead of John's hologram appearing from his portrait, the central section of the sunken living area lit up with an incoming call sign.

" _Guys_ ," John's voice said, " _we have a situation_."

"Ah, irony calls!" Gordon said. "No rest for the wicked or the good, it seems."

Grandma Tracy must have taken the stairs two at a time; as soon as John had finished relaying the information, she was already extracting Lyra from Virgil's arms.

"Alright, honey," she said. "The boys have to go to work now."

Nodding, Lyra set her feet firmly on the ground. Then, in a moment that would be etched into Gordon's memory forever, she straightened her back and _saluted_.

"Thunderbirds are _go_!"

Gordon's laughter could still be heard in the lounge all the way from the hangar.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a long night. There was little sleep to be had on the island and Gordon was no exception to that. Time ticked on and on, seconds dragging out into centuries. The bedcovers were too heavy; the mattress felt like it was filled with rocks. Worst of all, the air was too thick to breathe, too hot and sweat-soaked.

Shoving the blankets aside, Gordon flung his feet around and planted them on the smooth floor. The wood was clammy beneath his feet.

He reached for his watch.

"Matt, are you awake?" he asked.

Within a few seconds, the other redhead's face appeared.

" _Yeah, I'm awake_."

The brightness of the watch face made a halo around Matthew's head. Sharp spirals of curls jutted out in all directions, suggesting that he had tried to sleep – but like Gordon, it had eluded him. There were dark crescent moons below his eyes.

"Mind if I call down?" Gordon asked. "I can't sleep."

" _C'mon on down_ ," Matthew said, his curious vernacular slipping through again. " _I can't get a wink of sleep, either_."

"Be there in five."

At that, Gordon clicked off the comm. and grabbed a nearby robe.

He was there in four.

When Matthew opened the door, Gordon reached out and drew him into a tight hug. The coolness of the night breeze blew around them, cooling the sweat of worry and fear. Matthew's freckled arms encircled Gordon's waist and for a moment they simply existed with one another, imbibing each other's strength.

After a while, they crept into the apartment and sank onto the couch, lying in a pile. It was some time before either of them spoke.

When Matthew did, his tone was softer than Gordon had ever heard it before. Usually, the extrovert twin was loud – sometimes even brash – and always seemed to have a mischievous glint in his eye. Now, though, he had his knees drawn up to his chin and was staring at the rug. His words were barely audible.

"I don't know what to do, Gordon," he said.

Shifting a little, Gordon leaned in and placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"Neither do I. I don't know how we can even start to look for them."

Matthew turned, his green eyes liquid.

"That's not even what I mean," he said. There was a waver in his voice. "I just… We've always been together. _Always_. Even growing up the way we did, we were never apart. And now… I feel…" Gordon waited, though he knew how the sentence would end before the word was spoken: " _lost_."

It was as though a dam had broken. Not only did tears begin to slip down Matthew's pale cheeks, but words started tumbling out of his mouth like a maelstrom of emotion. Gordon held fast and rode the waves.

"I mean, people look at us and they think, 'Yeah, Matt's the strong one,'" Matthew said, sniffling. "They look at us and think that I'm the one who keeps us together. I'm the one who brings Eli out of himself. I'm the one who opens my fat trap and yammers on and on until people forget Eli is there so he can slip away, 'cuz he doesn't like crowds and people and stuff. And in some ways, that's true."

Matthew sat up, eyes blazing.

"But you know what? I'm nothing without him. _Nothing_. Eli is the one person who has always been here for me, no matter what I did. When I lashed out at school, he never judged me for it. He just listened to me and what I had to say. He's always been like a sponge, soaking up all my… _vitriol_ and taking it away. Cleaning me up and standing me back on my feet and saying, 'It's okay. It's a new day today and you can start again.'

"When I ran away from home a thousand times? He was always there. He always went out to look for me – and…" His voice caught on a ragged edge of sorrow. Fat drops fell onto the couch leather. "And… What did he get for it? Nine years old and destroyed by one selfish bastard – make that _two_ , because sure as hell, it was _my_ fault!"

"Oh, Matt, no," Gordon said, reaching out to tilt Matthew's chin back up again. "You can't blame yourself for that."

"But if I hadn't run off, he wouldn't have –"

" _No_." Gordon surprised even himself with the firmness of his tone. "You can't blame yourself for the actions of other people. You had your own stuff going on and that's why you were running. Someone took advantage of Eli but that someone wasn't you. It. Wasn't. _You_."

At some point, his hands had made their way onto Matthew's face. Around his fingertips, Matt's skin was growing milky.

"I know," Matthew said, bringing his hands up to rest on top of Gordon's. "I know, but it still feels like it was my fault. Like all of everything _ever_ is my fault."

Gordon leaned in and pressed his forehead to Matthew's.

"Well, you're wrong," he said.

Chuckling and sniffing against the last few tears, Matt closed his eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "But I still don't know what to do without Eli. I've got this horrible...burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. I just wish there was something I could _do._ Like, where are they? Where can they be?"

"I don't know," Gordon said, his voice soft. Too many memories of John's first disappearance were flooding back. "I just… I wish there had been something in the water – some scrap of a clue, even a solitary piece of debris that would have confirmed they went down. But there was nothing at all."

He had replayed the search over and over in his mind, reaching into the depths of his memory to see if something would flicker like light in the darkness, something perhaps that he had missed.

"W.A.S.P. confirmed that nothing went down in the area," he continued, sitting back. "But there's something strange about their whole involvement in this, anyway. They're not normally as territorial. Plenty of times before they've let me nose around a site where they're working. When the weird plane went down, I thought they were going to fire on us! And now this…"

Matthew reached up to run a thumb over the patches where Gordon's fingertips had been. He shook his head.

"I just… I hope that wherever they are – and they are somewhere, I know it – that they're okay. Eli and John and Lyra. They've got to be."

"Yeah," Gordon whispered. "They've just got to be."

 **~oOo~**

It seemed to take an eternity for the room to swirl into focus. In fact, it never did. And then he remembered. _Glasses_.

Reaching out for the nightstand, John groped for his spectacles. But the nightstand wasn't there.

And he froze.

 _What the hell?_

This was not his room. This was not his bed. He didn't even need eyes to sense that this was not his _home_.

"You're awake," a voice said.

Something broad and red and black swirled before him. John blinked a few times, trying to force his damaged eyes to focus – but to no avail. There was something familiar about the timbre of that voice, deep and soft but with an edge of authority. And yet it wasn't quite the same.

"Where am I?" John asked, sitting up.

The blanket fell away and as he moved, an almighty crack of pain seared through his ribs – and he couldn't help but cry out. It felt like he was on _fire_.

There were hands on him then, calloused and yet gentle, urging him to lie back down again.

"Easy now, easy," the voice said. "Just lie back. You've got several cracked ribs and a few broken fingers." The man chuckled and again, the sound was so familiar. "All in all, I think you got off pretty lightly after taking a nose dive in that bucket of bolts."

 _Bucket of bolts?_ John thought. But then more pressing matters threw themselves to the front of his mind and he tried to rise again.

"Where's Lyra?" he asked. "Where's my daughter? And Eli? Where is he?"

"Shh, now," the man said, settling him back in the bed again. "They're here. Your daughter's sleeping and Elijah… I assume that's the other gentleman here? He's still out. He's got a broken arm and a lot of bruising but his vitals are good. He'll come around."

His rising panic quelled a little, John didn't try to rise again. The throbbing of his ribs and his head kept time to his growing confusion.

"Where am I?" he asked again. "You sound familiar but… I don't think we've ever met."

The man chuckled.

"No, we haven't," he said. "But I feel as if I know you."

"And I feel like I know you…" John squinted his blurry eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were my brother Virgil – with dyed hair and a new wardrobe." He reached out to grasp the man's sleeve. "Is that flannel?"

Chuckling, the other man brought his arm closer so John could confirm his suspicions about the material.

"Yeah, it is," he said. "Funny, your daughter mentioned about the hair colour, too."

John withdrew his hand. His brows knotted together.

"What did she say?"

"She said I looked like her Uncle Virgil," the man said. His tone softened. "I take that as a compliment."

"It is one," John said, recalling his brother's soft brown eyes. Then he tried to seek out the eyes of the man in front of him – but they were lost in the swirl of his vision. "Who are you? And for the third time, _where_ am I?"

There was a pause, slow and deliberate. Then the man spoke again.

"I don't know how much I should or shouldn't tell you," he said. Then he chuckled, a deep rumble that struck a chord deep within John's chest. "Then again, I guess you shouldn't know less than your daughter."

"Just tell me," John ground out, trying to sit up again but relenting at the knives in his chest.

"Well," the man said. "I have to tell you that my name is Virgil Tracy – and you're the spitting image of my brother John."

" _What_?" John reached up to poke a finger into his ear, because that _could not_ have been what the man actually said. "Would you mind repeating yourself? I think I heard you wrong."

Chuckling again, this time the sound softer, the man nodded.

"You heard me right," he said. "My name is Virgil – and my brothers are Gordon, Scott, Alan and John. Just like your name is John, and you have the same brothers - or so your daughter tells us. She's a cute kid."

Had he been a lesser person, John might have swooned then. It occurred to him that it would have been the easier option – to fall unconscious, to refuse delivery of the impossible words that were coming at him like bullets.

But John Tracy hadn't been through hell in a handbasket _twice_ just to faint away at the first sign of the impossible. Instead, he sat up in spite of the pain – and reached out a bandaged hand.

Ribs screaming, he settled his splinted fingers on the blurry face in front of him. The man – _Virgil_ – stiffened at his touch but didn't draw away. John passed his hands over the smooth plains of the man's face, ran his finger over the sharp cheekbone, and traced the strong line of his jaw. The chord struck louder in John's chest.

"Virgil?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Virgil said, "I guess so. Sort of." He brought his hand up to rest on top of John's spindly fingers. "I don't really know what's going on. None of us do. We were hoping that you might be able to shed some light on the subject. Lyra's been pretty good but there are a lot of details that she just can't fill in – not that she isn't a smart kid."

John drew his hand back and nodded.

"She is," he said.

Virgil – or at least, the man who claimed to be Virgil – cleared his throat and sat forward.

"Not to ask too personal a question, but I guess I have to. May I ask, are you blind? Because you don't seem to be able to see me very well."

Letting out a sharp laugh, John shook his head.

"No, I'm not blind. But my eyesight was badly damaged in an…uh, accident, several years ago. I need glasses to see properly but I assume they were lost in the crash. We did crash, right? I… I don't really remember much."

Virgil leaned forward and laid a hand on John's shoulder for a moment.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm sure Brains can whip you up a new pair of specs with his fabricator – goodness knows how many times he's had to do that for himself."

"Brains?" John asked. "There's a Brains here, too?"

"The one and only," Virgil said. Then he grunted. "Or not the one and only, as it seems."

When he withdrew his hand, John couldn't help but feel a little bereft. The blur looked a bit like Virgil – and the face certainly felt like Virgil's. There was an undying tenderness in the man's touch that was absolutely reminiscent of his brother's hands.

"I'll go and see what he can do. He'll need to take a scan of your eyes, I'd say. Or something like that. He'll know." The blur stood. "Will you be okay here until I come back?"

John nodded, feeling a lump grow in his throat.

"Yes," he said. "May I see my daughter? I just… I need to see her."

"Oh course," Virgil said. "I'll bring her back with me – if she's awake, that is."

"Thank you."

As Virgil disappeared, John turned his head to the right to take in the sight of the redheaded blob lying in the bed across from his.

"Eli," he whispered, reaching out into the empty air between them. "Wake up, please. I need you to help me figure out what the hell is going on here…"


	10. Chapter 10

"We are now officially in the Arctic Circle," Virgil said.

Gordon pasted a grin on his face and looked out the cockpit window. They were on their way to an oil field in Naryan-Mar, an autonomous okrug in the far north of Russia, where ground subsidence due to careless drilling had caused a disaster.

"Let's hope it wasn't Grandma who packed the auxiliary clothing this time, eh?" Gordon said.

With an obligatory chuckle, Virgil nodded. The reality was that neither of them felt much like kidding around. The first reason was that rescues were never funny; the second was that three days had passed and there was still no sign of John, Eli and Lyra. _Not alive. Not dead. Just…gone_.

Before he could think too much on the subject, Scott's voice rang through Two's cockpit.

" _Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One_ ," he said. " _Have arrived at Danger Zone. It seems there may be more trapped workers than we had first thought. What's your ETA?_ "

Without even thinking about it, Virgil replied.

"About fifteen minutes, Scott," he said. "How many people are we talking about?"

" _Around twenty, now_ ," Scott replied, his voice tight with tension. " _There was a second subsidence a few minutes ago and the seismology suggests that there might be another. The faster you get here, the better._ "

"F.A.B.," Virgil said. "We'll be there as soon as physically possible."

Gordon knew from the pull of Virgil's thick eyebrows low over his eyes that he meant it. There was a sudden shift as he cranked Two up to her maximum operating speed; Gordon clutched the edges of his seat.

"Put the pedal to the metal, brother," he said.

"Right."

They were there within ten.

When they arrived, one particular thought made a burning hole in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't proud, but Gordon had to admit it: he was glad of the rescue. The constant motion, being forced to think on his feet, putting his hands onto those in need, using all of his strength to bring them back to the land of the living… It meant something. It was tangible, valuable.

It was better than thinking about how his brother had disappeared. Again.

Yet even as he pressed his lips to the blue-tinged face of a blonde worker who couldn't have been more than eighteen years old, he couldn't banish the thought completely.

He focused on rescue breaths and chest compressions. He mouthed silent curses in the darkness of the cavern that had swallowed the oil pumps and their crew. First aid. That was Eli's job, Eli's role, Eli's expertise.

And now he was gone too.

 _One, two, three_. He pulled back and placed his hands on the girl's breast bone again. He started to press, feeling the give of her chest underneath his palms. Scott had rappelled into one of the deeper sections of this unexpected maw. Virgil was in a section nearby Gordon's, using a hand excavator to help dig out another innocent.

All around them was darkness, the smell of oil and the taint of blood in the air.

He couldn't help himself. Gordon looked at the girl's face. It was cross-crossed with cuts, blood congealing around her temples from a blow to the head. The red blood, her blue lips, her lily white skin… To him, once colours of freedom and success. To her? The colours of death.

Gordon snorted and he kept the compressions going.

The more he looked at her, the more her face morphed. The planes smoothed out, the hair lengthened and twisted into long braids – and then she was unbearably small, just a kid.

Lyra.

He froze.

And then she was a young woman again, coughing as life rushed back through her veins. She sucked in breath in whooping gasps – and Gordon snapped back to reality again.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said. "Вам будет хорошо сейчас."

 _Thank you, Johnny,_ he thought, recalling one of the very few Russian phrases he remembered from John's Essential Rescue Language 101 lessons. _You'll be fine now_ … He had to admit, it was a good one for the business they were in.

The woman couldn't talk – nor was she in any condition to walk, either. Gordon reached for the collapsible back board and clicked it to its full length.

"You'll be fine," he crooned. " _Вам будет хорошо сейчас_ …"

Five hours and twenty casualties later, Gordon clapped his older brothers' shoulders.

"Not bad for a Monday afternoon," he said.

Virgil reached up and briefly touched Gordon's gloved hand with his own.

"Yeah," he said. "Now that they're all processed and on their way for medical treatment, I think we can call it a day."

"Right," said Scott. "Let's go home."

As he trio turned to pad across the barren ground, a gust of icy wind whipped up. It was only then that Gordon felt the sting of half-frozen salt water on his face. He stopped. He remembered.

But Virgil's hand was on his shoulder this time – and it was just enough to keep him going. At least for now.

 **~oOo~**

"Ah'm really not sure that it's a good idea, Jeff."

Sheridan's stony expression was unrelenting. Jeff didn't care. He folded his arms and spread his weight evenly between his feet.

"Neither am I," he replied. "But one thing I am sure of is that I can't stay stuck in this submarine for the foreseeable future."

The days of confinement on the _Barracuda_ had drawn on and on – and when Jeff nearly came to blows with the food dispenser, he knew it was time to bring an end to it. _I'm an astronaut,_ he thought, _not an aquanaut. I've always left that field to Gordon._ He was getting itchy feet, itchy hands – itchy _everything_ – while trapped in the depths of the sea, so far away from his beloved stars. _And my beloved sons_ , Jeff thought. _Riding around in this bucket isn't helping me to figure out what the hell is going on_.

That statement was mostly true, but he had to admit, being a side-seat researcher to Coral and Sheridan had its benefits. They had discovered that there was no discernible pattern to the disturbances in the air and the sea – but that every time an anomaly occurred, more canisters of nuclear waste were deposited somewhere within two square miles of the same patch of ocean.

As soon as they had drawn close enough to see one of the canisters, Jeff's heart had turned to stone. He knew the logo. He knew the company. And worst of all?

He had helped to start the damn thing.

Ascension Technologies had been one of his first ventures with an old friend, Paul Garnett, with whom he had been friends for decades. But it didn't make sense. _Ascension Tech was all about renewable energy_ , Jeff thought. _Paul has a Ph.D. in renewables, for Christ's sake. Why the hell would he be dumping nuclear waste? Nuclear power was outlawed after the Global Conflict. He invested in_ stopping _nuclear power._ Why _would he be dealing in it now? And how the hell is he dumping toxic waste from what seems to be the middle of nowhere?_

There were far too many questions – and so few answers could be found from the inside of an outdated submarine – outdated as far as Jeff could see. His own – time, place, universe, _whatever_ – seemed to be half a century ahead in technology. _I guess that's one of the consequences of war_ , he thought. _Technology always advances in conflict._

And thus, Jeff had come to a decision. It was time.

"Ah just don't know what the reaction will be," Sheridan continued, leaning over the back of his chair. "And Ah don't even know if in our time or reality, whatever name ya wanna give it, that the Tracys are in charge of International Rescue. There's no guarantee."

"If they're not," Jeff said, "they'll just think I'm another crazy caller. I bet they get them all the time. If they are and they're willing to listen, we might just be able to figure something out. If their Brains is anything like my Brains, we will."

"Alright," Sheridan said, pulling himself out of the chair and standing. "Since it's your idea, y'all need to be the one making the call."

He gestured for Jeff to sit. Coral nodded.

Sliding into the chair, Jeff reached out for the comm. button. There was a moment's hesitation, his long fingers hovering. _Is this the right thing to do?_ he asked. _Is this what I should do?_ He took a deep breath. _It's what Dad would have done_.

Thus, he pressed the button – and made the call.

 **~oOo~**

Tracy Island was quiet – too quiet for Tin-Tin's liking. Scott, Virgil and Gordon were still on their way back from Russia. Alan was on his way down from swapping duty with Matthew. Brains was tinkering, his reaction in any time of stress. Grandma was cooking – the same could be said for her.

And Jeff? She looked at the empty desk and shook her head.

Jeff was holed up in his office, as he had been ever since the rescue call came in. _I do wish there was something I could do_ , Tin-Tin thought as she smoothed her hand over Adam's fine black hair. _I just haven't the slightest clue what I_ can _do in such a situation_.

At five months pregnant, she had been confined to light island duties and Adam's education. Unable to take her mind off things by throwing herself into rescues and with only so many hours of instruction her son could take a day, Tin-Tin was left with a lot of time to think. And few of her thoughts were delightful.

She should have been thinking about baby names, about whether it was a boy or a girl, about what way she would decorate the nursery this time. She should have been explaining to Adam what was happening in her body, telling him that soon he would be a big brother.

All the boy talked about was his cousin.

"When is Lyra coming home?" he had asked a thousand times. "I miss her."

Each time, Tin-Tin would lean down and kiss his smooth forehead.

"I know," she would say. "I miss her too."

"And Uncle Johnny and Uncle Eli," Adam would continue. "I want them to come home."

"And they will come home," she said, the lie like acid on her tongue. "They will."

But in reality, there was no cast-iron guarantee. There was no assurance. There was no closure. They weren't absolutely alive, nor absolutely dead. They seemed to have ceased to exist – a concept difficult for even adults to comprehend, never mind a five year old boy.

Now, Adam was asleep on the couch, tuckered out after a day of lessons. He had been determined to stay awake until Daddy came home – but the changeover had been delayed due to the rescue and as the clock ticked on, Adam's eyes had slid shut.

Alan was on the way home now, though. Tin-Tin felt a little weight lifting from her shoulders. It was never easy when he was away. There was something missing from her life that went beyond just the warm figure in the bed. It was Alan's smile, his support, the way he gave everything he could to Adam and his upbringing. _I can't wait to fall into his arms,_ Tin-Tin thought. _I just need him to hold me…_

Just then, there was a sharp series of beeps. Tin-Tin turned to look at the copy of Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' hanging on the wall. The orange blooms were lighting up.

"Oh dear," she said, crossing to Jeff's desk. "I hope it isn't another rescue. The boys will be tired."

Sitting down, she reached out to accept the call from Thunderbird Five.

"Go ahead, Matthew," Tin-Tin said.

The 'Sunflowers' disappeared, replaced by a pale face that was scrunched with confusion.

" _Tin-Tin_ ," Matthew said. " _I've had an… Uh, unusual emergency call_."

"Oh?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

" _Normally, I might have ignored it but this time… I think there's something genuine here_."

Tin-Tin said nothing and leaned forward, awaiting the explanation.

" _I think you need to get Mr Tracy_ ," Matthew said. " _Because there's someone on the line who sounds identical to him – and worse, claims to_ be _him_."

Feeling the blood rush from her face, Tin-Tin sat back.

" _What?_ "

" _Exactly my reaction_ ," Matthew said. "But listen to this."

He leaned out of the frame for a moment. When his face reappeared, there was a new voice drifting through the lounge.

" _Calling International Rescue_."

Tin-Tin froze. _That voice_ …

" _International Rescue,_ _please come in. Listen to me very carefully. I don't have an explanation and I don't know what exactly has happened, but I know that I need you_." There was a pause. Then: " _My name is Jeff Tracy and I need your help to get home to my sons: Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan. If you are who I think you are, you might think I'm crazy - but I'm not. It was me that was on the strange plane that crashed into the South Pacific. I know you were there to help me then and... I need your help now._ "

At that moment, Tin-Tin turned to see Adam hovering at her elbow. There were fat tears standing in his eyes.

"What's wrong with Grandpa?" he asked, clutching onto her arm. "Why does he need help?"

" _And if that doesn't confirm the likeness_ ," Matthew said, " _I don't know what will_."

Pulling her son in for a hug, Tin-Tin shook her head.

"Don't worry, Adam," she said. "Grandpa is fine. I'm going to call him now."

"Then who was that man?" Adam asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

Tin-Tin automatically fished a tissue from her pocket and wiped his face. She shook her head again.

"I don't know," she said. "But I'm sure we'll find out." She looked at Matthew. "Stay on the line and keep – whoever that is – on the line too. I'll get Mr Tracy."

" _F.A.B.,_ " Matthew said. "Standing by."

Tin-Tin switched communication channels and tried to find the words to convey what she needed to say. They were not easily forthcoming.

"Mr Tracy," she said, "I think you need to come up here right away."

" _What's wrong, Tin-Tin_?" Jeff asked. She could hear the frown in his voice. "Is it the boys?"

"No, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin said. "It's… I think you had better hear it for yourself, but… A call for help has come in. The man claims that he was the one who crashed into the sea in that strange plane. And, well…" Tin-Tin exhaled sharply. "Mr Tracy, I don't know how else to say this so I'll just come out with it. He's claiming to be _you_."

 _"_ _Вам будет хорошо сейчас."_ – You'll be fine now.


	11. Chapter 11

"Daddy!"

If it wasn't for Virgil's quick grasp, John would have found himself smothered in daughter – and probably reeling in pain. Thankfully, the little blonde blur was stopped before she could vault into her father's arms. Instead, Virgil picked her up and perched her on the edge of the mattress.

"Hey, my little star," John said, reaching out to touch her face.

Lyra's small fingers wound around his strapped hand. Half-blind as he was, he could still tell she was smiling.

"Hey, big star daddy," she said. Then she turned for a moment. "Can I hug him, please?" she asked.

The deep rumble of Virgil's laugh made John's lips twitch – even if it wasn't _his_ Virgil.

"Of course you can," he said. "Just be careful. Your dad's ribs aren't in great shape."

"Okay," Lyra said.

Turning back to John, she leaned forward and embraced him with the gentlest squeeze around his neck.

"I missed you, Daddy," she said. Her breath was hot on the side of John's neck. "I was a little scared – but not totally scared. I was brave."

"I knew you would be," John replied, returning the hug with as much force as he could. "You're the bravest girl I know."

Tears pricked at his eyes as he held her. Lyra eventually relinquished her grip and sat back. Her head turned to the side. John knew exactly what she was looking at.

"Will _Dadaí_ be okay?" she asked.

John looked at the black and red blur standing near the bed. Virgil moved to Elijah's bedside and seemed to check a few monitors. At least, John could hear a few quiet clicks and soft bleeps.

"He will be," Virgil said. "There's nothing to suggest that he won't regain consciousness. He's just resting for the moment. I have an IV in with some strong painkillers, which might be keeping him out. He has a nasty break in that left arm."

Lyra slipped off the edge of the bed and padded to Elijah's side.

"You have to wake up," she said. Her tone wasn't mournful; indeed, it was _authoritative_. "Daddy and I need you. And you said I would get a new brother or sister!"

John watched as the little blur planted her hands on her hips and he wasn't sure whether he was about to laugh or cry. Virgil's hand went to his mouth – the sound that came from him was certainly an indulgent snigger.

"Oh, Ly-Ly," John said, sitting up a little straighter again. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."

She spun around, long braids whipping out.

"Even more special than when you discovered the Tracy Quasar system, Daddy?"

"Even more than that," John replied with a chuckle.

"The _what_ now?"

John could just imagine Virgil with one eyebrow raised – at least, that's what his brother would have done. Before he could speak, though, Lyra had turned around.

"Quasi-stellar radio sources inhabit the very centre of active, young galaxies, and are among the most luminous, powerful, and energetic objects known in the universe," she recited. "They emit up to a thousand times the energy output of the Milky Way. This radiation is emitted across the electromagnetic spectrum, usually from X-rays to the far-infrared with a peak in the ultraviolet-optical bands, with some quasars also being strong sources of radio emission and of gamma-rays."

The stunned silence that followed made John grin so wide his cheeks ached.

"Did she just say that?" Virgil asked. The eyebrow was _definitely_ raised. "And more importantly, _what_ did she just say?"

Chuckling, John reached out to lay a hand on Lyra's shoulder.

"Yes, she did – and she's just explained exactly what a quasar is," he said. "That's my girl."

John tried to sit up a little further. With Lyra beside him, he felt a thousand times stronger. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed – and elicited an irritated click from Virgil.

"I think you would be better suited to resting up," he said.

"And I think," John replied, wincing as he caught a whiff of himself, "that I need to shower and get changed and spend time with my daughter. I'm fine. Really."

"And you need to shout at _Dadaí_ to get up," Lyra added.

"And to shout at _Dadaí_ to get up."

Doing his best to give Virgil a look that allowed no argument, he stood. He was shaky and felt like his chest had been crushed by a hundred elephants, but he still managed to get himself upright.

"Alright," Virgil said reluctantly. "I'll show you to the washroom."

Lyra gave John's good hand a squeeze and went to Elijah's bedside.

"I'll stay here and shout at _Dadaí_."

"Quietly, though, my star," John said. "I know you want to wake him up but he doesn't need a headache on top over everything else."

"OKAY," Lyra replied in a stage whisper.

Rolling his eyes, yet still smiling, John allowed himself to be directed to the washroom.

When they reached the small room off the sickroom, Virgil held the door open.

"She's a smart cookie," he said. "Does she really know all that stuff about quasars?"

"I don't think she understands it all," John said, allowing Virgil to guide him forward. "But she'll understand some of it. She soaks up information like a sponge and can parrot it back. And she has a ridiculously high IQ for a five year old."

Giving a low whistle, Virgil placed John's hand on one of the safety rails bolted to the wall and set about gathering supplies.

"That's insane," he said. "Then again, if you're anything like my John, it's genetic." There was a clattering sound as he rummaged through a cupboard. "My big bro has a big brain."

John paused for a minute as he processed that information.

" _Big_ bro?" he asked. "Your John is older than you?"

"Yeah," Virgil said, turning. "I'm the middle kid of the family. The peacemaker. Switzerland, you might say. Without me, this whole family would probably go to pot." He chuckled. "Why?"

Shaking his head, John leaned against the wall a little more.

"Because in my family, _I'm_ the middle kid," he said. "My Virgil is the second oldest."

"Weird," Virgil said. There was a soft clunk as he set something down in the shower cubicle. "John, younger than me?" He paused. "Nah." Then he reached out to guide John forward again. "Alright, I've left some fresh towels and wash stuff in there. Don't worry about mixing up bottles. The same thing will do hair and skin."

Placing his hands against the cold tiles, John turned and smiled at the blur in front of him.

"Thank you," he said. "I really appreciate all this."

"Don't worry about it," Virgil said with a wave. "I'll be right outside. Holler if you need anything."

"I will."

With that, Virgil strode off, whistling a tune John had never heard before. The door closed with a swish, and suddenly the strength went out of John's arms. He leaned his whole body against the tiled wall. _What the hell is happening here?_ he thought.

Unable to answer his own question, he sighed and stripped off the unfamiliar clothing and stepped into the embrace of the shower.

 **~oOo~**

"Okay, John," Scott said, crossing to claim the seat beside Alan. "We're on our way. Thunderbirds are go!"

Gordon gave his biggest and littlest brothers a salute as they began their descent to Thunderbird Three's launch bay.

"Good luck!" he said. "And don't drink any of that mercury! Just because it's a liquid doesn't mean it's consumable!"

"It's not that kind of mercury!"

Alan's voice reverberated up from the underground tunnel; Gordon grinned. _That's my bro_ , he thought. Then he turned his attention to the blue hologram hovering over the round coffee table.

"Keep an eye on them, will ya?" he asked. "I don't trust either of them to be sensible in space anymore."

John didn't crack a smile.

" _I'll be keeping tabs on them, don't worry_ ," he said.

Before his brother could click off, Gordon pinned the holographic eyes with a stare. He crossed his arms.

"When they come back, you're coming down, too."

" _I don't think so_ ," John said. " _There's too much going on up here_ -"

"And there's _a lot_ going on down here as well," Gordon said pointedly. "I think you need to come down here."

" _For what_?" John snapped, his face pulling into a scowl. " _To meet someone who claims to be me?_ "

"And looks identical to you," Gordon continued, crossing his arms.

Grunting, John shook his head.

" _I don't think so. Now, I have work to do. Thunderbird Five out._ "

With that, John's hologram disappeared. Gordon rolled his eyes and let his arms flop down to his sides again.

"Stubborn butthead," he said. "I wonder if the other John is just as bad."

"Not quite, but nearly."

Spinning on his heel, Gordon turned to see his brother appear from the elevator – at least, someone who looked like his brother. But it wasn't the right elevator and it wasn't the right person.

The blond John walked slowly, Virgil hovering at one of his sides and little Lyra at the other. Gordon walked forward, trying not to let his curiosity get the better of him.

But of course, it did.

"Holy crap," he said as he walked to the other man. "You look and sound just like him."

It was true. The man was older, certainly, but the resemblance was uncanny – even down to the hair, damp as it was. There was an uncertainty to his gait that made something flutter in Gordon's stomach. Virgil led the little group towards the sunken living area and Gordon walked the few steps backwards, holding his hands out for his pseudo-brother.

"Careful," he said.

"Do you guys treat everyone who visits with kid gloves?" John joked.

"Only the ones who fall out of the middle of nowhere and nearly break themselves in a plane crash," Gordon said.

After a beat, John replied.

"A fair point."

Once the blond was ensconced on one of the sofas with his daughter curled up to his side, Gordon perches on one of the arms. John frowned.

"This thing isn't going to disappear into the ground, is it?" he asked, looking at the floor. "I don't know about your lounge, but in mine, you have to be careful where you sit – otherwise you'll end up in a rocket."

"Nah," Virgil said, standing at Gordon's side. "It's that one over there that descends. And it's already gone. Scott and Alan are off to Mercury."

"The planet kind," Gordon said with a grin, "not the metal kind."

" _Obviously_ ," Lyra said with a scowl.

John's face pulled into a frown. Gordon almost winced. He had been on the receiving end of a similar look too many times to count.

"Don't be rude, Ly," John said.

The girl's lips twisted as if she was trying to stop herself from speaking. Then, after a gentle poke to the side, she sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Gordon said cheerfully. "I get you, little dudette." Then he slid his gaze back to the man on the couch and shook his head. "This is totally weird," he said. "Can you tell us what happened?"

John let out a long breath and licked his cracked lips.

"I don't know how much there is to tell," he said. "I don't remember a lot. We were on course for Wellington to look for an engagement ring. Everything was going fine and then… It wasn't." He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, as though he was defending himself from the memory. "It was as if a giant hand had grabbed onto the nose of Tracy One. None of the systems were responding. I tried calling Alan for help but he could barely hear me. And then there was this… _horrific_ bright light. And then we were in the water and…I thought I was dead."

His voice hitched on the last word. Gordon couldn't stop himself. He reached out and placed a hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Well, you're not," he said. "You're still here – and so's your daughter and your… _fiancé?_ "

"Yeah," John replied, glancing over at the elevator from which he had emerged. "Elijah and I got engaged the day before the crash."

"Daddy and _Dadaí_ are getting married," Lyra said. "They said I can be their flower girl. _And_ they said I can get a little brother or sister."

Gordon grinned and leaned down a little, placing his hands on his knees.

"Really? That is so cool," he said. "Little brothers are great!"

From behind, Virgil coughed. In front, John grinned.

"They're great _sometimes_ ," Virgil added.

"Rude," Gordon replied, deadpan.

Lyra giggled, her whole face lighting up with delight. The resemblance between father and daughter was striking. They had the same blue eyes and the same bright blond hair. _Recolour the hair red and the eyes green?_ Gordon thought. _And you've got my John. Weird_.

"Just a question," Virgil said. "Daddy and Dadee?" he asked.

John smiled.

" _Dadaí_ ," he corrected. "It's Irish. Elijah's from Ireland. It makes things a little less confusing."

There was a poignant pause for a moment and then something happened that threw Gordon completely off-guard.

John pulled his hands up to his face and pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets. He took a shuddering breath.

"Oh, God…" he said quietly. "I can't believe this has happened."

Before either Virgil or Gordon could do anything, Lyra had clambered into her father's lap, careful not to jolt him, and started running her fingers through his thick blond cowlick.

"It's okay, Daddy," she said, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "Everything will be a-okay. It always is. And what does Grandpa say? Never give up at any cost."

She turned around with confusion painted on her face as Virgil and Gordon joined in with the last few words. John pulled his hands from his reddened eyes.

"Your dad too?" he asked.

Gordon gulped against the lump in his throat.

"Our dad too," he said.

There was another poignant pause. It seemed to linger for a fraction too long, so Gordon did as Gordon does. He broke the silence.

"Well, that's a thing," he said with a crooked grin. "I'm sure we'll see Dad again some time. I refuse to believe he would go out so quietly."

John flicked his head to the side and pinned Gordon with a piercing look.

"Go out?" he asked.

It was Virgil who answered, his face pulled in solemn repose.

"Our dad went missing a while ago," he said. "He was flying over the Pacific and then…" He made an open gesture with his hands, "he was just gone. No wreckage. Nothing."

The penny that dropped hit them all on its way down.

"You don't think…" Gordon started.

"I do think, Gordo," Virgil replied, his tone rising. Then he looked at their guests and leaned forward. "Whatever happened to you might have happened to Dad."

"But what does it mean?" Gordon asked.

"It m-means," a new voice said, "that the theory of a multiverse might j-just have been proven."

Gordon turned and smiled as Brains joined them near the round coffee table. He was carrying some kind of equipment that Gordon hadn't seen before. It was like a pair of goggles attached to a control box. Of his shoulder, M.A.X. extended his long neck.

"Brains," Gordon said cheerfully, "I'm so glad you're here. We need a nerd-brain like you to figure this out."

"Brains?" The blond John squinted, trying to bring the figure into focus. "You don't sound like my Brains."

With a little self-conscious stutter, Brains stepped forward, still holding the equipment.

"N-no stutter?" he asked.

"No, actually," John replied. "He still speaks with a stutter, though he has an American accent."

"How c-curious!" Leaning down, Brains handed part of the equipment off to M.A.X. and kept a hold on the goggles. "J-John, Virgil t-tells me you have some eye problems – like myself." He grinned. "I have an optometric scanner here, which will allow me to produce some c-corrective lenses for you using the fabricator. M-may I scan your eyes?"

John sat forward. Lyra stayed at his side, regarding this 'new' Brains with narrowed eyes.

"Sure," John said. "I'm getting a little tired of everything being a blur."

Crossing her arms, Lyra scowled.

"You don't look like Brains," she said. "Apart from the glasses."

"Lyra," John said warningly. "He isn't our Brains. But he still deserves respect."

Unfolding her arms, Lyra sat back.

"Yes, Daddy," she said, sounding hangdog.

After a few seconds, Brains' scans were complete. His face had fallen into a deep frown.

"The d-damage is quite ex-t-tensive," he said. "It's not natural d-degeneration."

John sat back and sighed. He sought out his daughter's hand.

"No, it's not," he said. "It's a long story but, suffice to say, someone damaged my eyes – deliberately and viciously."

"I'm so sorry," Brains said. "I'll s-see what I can do for you." His frown was replaced by a look of steely determination. "Come on, M.A.X. You and I have work to do!"

The robot replied with a series of beeps and clicks, following as Brains left the lounge.

"What do you mean if I can't fix my own sight, I won't be able to fix someone else's? I'm c-close to a breakthrough, you know…"

As the sound trailed off, John looked from Gordon to Virgil, one eyebrow raised.

"Who's Max?" he asked.

"M.A.X. – Mechanical Assistant, Experimental," Virgil corrected. "He's Brains's pet project – kind of like a robot, but much more. M.A.X. is one of the family, really."

"He looks like a big metal spider," Lyra said, twisting her lips in disgust.

"Yeah, he does," Gordon replied. "But he's much better than a spider. Do you know he saved Scott and Virgil's lives once?"

Lyra's eyes widened and her face erupted into a grin.

"He's a hero robot?" she asked. "Just like in Super Power Bots!"

"Super-who-now?"

Chuckling, John elaborated.

"It's a televiewer show," he said.

Two short, steady beeps stopped him from saying any more. All three of Scott, Alan and John's holograms burst to life over the coffee table.

" _Looks like we're turning around, guys_ ," Scott said. " _The Hermes crew have managed to bring their systems back online again, so there's no immediate threat to life._ "

" _The World Space Authority are sending a relief crew out to them. It'll take a few days but they'll be alright_ ," John – redhead John – continued.

Unable to stop himself, Gordon flicked his gaze from one John to the other.

"Holy shit," he said.

"Language," Virgil warned, gesturing at the child.

" _I'm just bummed out that I didn't get to go to Mercury_!" Alan said, pouting. " _Never been there before. It would have been cool._ "

Without warning, blond John spoke up, looking vaguely in the direction of the holograms, his eyes unfocused.

"You're not missing much, Alan," he said. "I went there on the _W.S.A. Caduceus_ and…"

Suddenly self-conscious, John stopped. Half-blind as he was, Gordon thought, he could clearly sense when everyone was looking at him. He snapped his mouth shut.

Then the other John spoke.

" _I'll keep an eye on them and let you know if there are any further developments._ "

" _Actually, John_ ," Scott said, in a tone so reminiscent of their father's that Gordon winced, " _you're coming down. We have, as you would say, a_ situation _on the island that we need to discuss_. _End of story._ "

" _Scott –_ "

" _End. Of. Story._ _Get your butt in the elevator._ "

Without a further word, John's hologram disappeared in a flurry of distaste. Gordon shook his head and folded his arms across his chest.

"He's gonna be breathing fire when he gets down here," he said.

Scott shrugged, his holographic eyes twinkling.

" _But at least he'll be down_ ," he said. " _Our ETA is about one hour_."

" _Thunderbird Three, out_!"

Alan rushed to get the last word in. Before their holograms disappeared, Scott shook his head and rolled his eyes.

With the blue light gone, Gordon returned his attention to their guests. He was about to deliver a stunningly witty retort, but his lips remained soundless when Grandma's voice sounded over the comm. system.

" _Boys_ ," she said. " _Our other guest is awake._ "

Lyra bounced off the couch and ran circles around the coffee table, then clung onto Gordon's legs.

" _Dadaí_! _Dadaí_!"

"Eli!" John whispered, sitting up – and immediately wincing.

"Alright, hold your horses," Virgil said, standing and reaching out his hands. "We'll getcha there."

Gordon watched as Virgil helped the blond John up the short staircase. Then he looked at the portrait of the redhead John on the wall.

"Oh boy," he said, moving to fall in step behind Virgil. "This is going to be _interesting_ …"


	12. Chapter 12

It wouldn't have been the first time someone had come to the island who knew their secrets. It was just the first time someone came claiming to _be his father_. Gordon shook his head as he settled into Four's control seat. _This is weird. This is so very weird… But, could it be linked to Tracy One's disappearance? It's_ got _to be!_

Taking a deep breath, Gordon closed his eyes and willed his hands to stop shaking. _Cool it, Tracy_ , he thought. _Just cool it_. Opening his eyes again, he started to key in Four's emergency launch procedures.

The rare sound of the small submarine's hover jets filled the inside of the pod. Then Virgil's voice boomed through the comm.

" _Lowering pod door now_."

As the pod door opened, light from outside spilled in. Two's hangar was already open and the long stretch of the runway yawned out before him. Gordon steeled himself and started to move forward.

"F.A.B., Virgil," he said. "Commencing emergency launch now."

It was a strange sight to see the palm trees that flanked the runway upright and towering high above him. Indeed, it hadn't been since the incident with the Sentinel so many years before that Gordon had taken Four out solo. But there he was, shooting down the runway alone, then hitting the water and starting his journey out into the Pacific.

"Base from Thunderbird Four," he said. "En route now, Father. I'll keep you updated."

" _Do that, Gordon_ ," came the reply. Then there was a pause. " _And Gordon, make sure you're armed_."

He resisted the urge to chuckle.

"I will, Father."

Plotting his course as the comm. cut off, Gordon shook his head. _There'll be no violence,_ he thought. _Especially not if this so-called Jeff Tracy is with W.A.S.P. – and double especially if he's with 'Phones' Sheridan. I never met a more genuine guy in my life_.

Thus, Gordon set off through the ocean, on the way to meet a man who claimed to be his father.

 **~oOo~**

His hands were trembling by the time he reached the sick room and it had very little to do with the exhaustion that was threatening to sweep him away. Lyra tore away from his grip and shot off into the room. John brought up the rear, flanked by two pseudo-brothers. His heart hammered in his chest.

And then he reached the door. He saw a pale figure with a red head sitting up in the bed. He swallowed hard.

" _Eli_."

Casting off the helping hands, he ran forward in a blur, praying for a clear floor and ignoring the fire in his sides. His legs banged against the side of the bed as he leaned down and scooped his fiancé into as tight as hug as he could muster.

"Eli, thank _God_."

" _Johnny_."

The name was the sweetest word that had ever been whispered into his ears. Together they held each other, for seconds that stretched into eternity, not caring who was there, not caring who was watching. John inhaled the scent of Eli's hair, unwashed and yet still sweet. He pressed his face against the carpet of red stubble that covered his cheek, relishing the sting on his own skin.

"I thought I'd lost you," John said.

"Johnny... Jesus, Mary and Holy Saint Joseph, at least we're alright."

A tiny body squashed itself in between them and at last, John drew back. Lyra was sobbing, reaching out to hang on Elijah's neck.

" _Dadaí_ ," she said through quivering breaths, "I thought you weren't coming back!"

"Oh, Ly-Ly," Elijah said, reaching his one good arm up to embrace her. "I'll never leave you. Never."

Then he pulled back and turned his face to John.

" _Cá bhfuil muid_?" he asked.

John chuckled and raised his eyes to the ceiling. _Where are we? There's only one answer I can give you…_

" _Tá sé ina scéal casta…_ " he replied.

And it was true. It _was_ a complicated story, indeed.

Elijah shook his head. Then John saw the dark red of his brows draw downwards.

" _An bhfuil tú ceart go leor_?"

" _Níos mó nó níos lú_ ," he replied.

Again, it was true. He was alright, more or less.

There was a soft cough from behind them and John turned. A grey and purple blur was hovering at his shoulder. _Grandma – or at least,_ their _grandma._

"Elijah, is it?" she asked.

"Yes, uh… What can I call you?"

"Oh," the older woman said with a chuckle. "You can call me Grandma – everybody does!"

Elijah chuckled.

"That sounds familiar," he said.

John's breath caught in his throat and he laughed – though it came out in as a high strangled choke.

"Elijah, there's _a lot_ that's going to sound familiar," he said. "You aren't going to believe where the hell we are…"

 **~oOo~**

" _Barracuda_ from Thunderbird Four," Gordon said. "ETA to your location is one minute."

" _Understood_ , _Thunderbird Four_ ," came the drawling reply. " _My passenger is ready to depart. All y'all need to do is pick 'im up._ "

Gordon grinned at the sound of Phones's voice. It had been many years since he'd had dealings with the man. During his W.A.S.P. career, he hadn't crossed paths with the crew of Stingray too many times. But the exploits of Troy Tempest and George 'Phones' Sheridan were so legendary that every new recruit knew them like the back of their hands. Eighteen year old Gordon Tracy had been no different.

When he reached the rendezvous point, his heart was pounding. _Why am I so nervous?_ Gordon thought. It was a stupid question, though, and he knew it. Of course he was worried. What was about to happen was unclear. It had the potential to be damned _dangerous_. One thing Gordon had learned over the course of his life was that you couldn't take everyone at face value, and that International Rescue's secrets were valuable enough for people to lie for – and even to kill for. _It could all be an elaborate ruse,_ he thought. And yet equally, it could have been the key to bringing his brother, niece and soon-to-be-brother-in-law home. _We've got to risk it_ , he thought.

Through the gloom of the deep Pacific, the _Barracuda_ emerged with its bright lights shimmering like diamonds. Gordon brought Four around, his fingers dancing over the controls as he readied the craft for docking.

" _Ready on this end_ ," Phones said.

"Commencing docking procedures now," Gordon replied.

With a muffled clunk, the two craft docked, their airlocks coming together in a metallic kiss. Gordon stood, took a deep breath, and turned. It was time to meet the man who claimed to be his father… Even though his father was safe and sound at home.

As the airlocks cycled, Gordon shook his head. One hand hovered at the gun holstered on his left hip. _Nothing bad will happen,_ he thought. Then he shook his head. _How many times has that been said in the past? And how many times have those been someone's last words?_

At last, he was granted entry – and for the first time in ten years, Gordon Tracy set foot on a W.A.S.P. ship. The first thing he saw was his father's face. His throat tightened.

"Oh my God."

The man who wasn't his father stepped forward. Phones was at his left shoulder but he didn't approach. Gordon stood rooted to the spot as the man who wasn't his father approached him, stopping about half a meter away.

"Gordon?" he asked. Then he looked up. "Your _hair_."

He couldn't help it. Gordon _laughed_.

There was a pause for a moment, and then the skin at the other man's eyes crinkled – and then they were laughing together. Gordon planted his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"I am Gordon," he said through laughs, "but I don't know who the hell you are."

The other man shook his head and wiped away a tear of mirth.

"You're not my Gordon," he said, "and I'm not your father. But by Christ, you look like my son."

"And you look like my dad," Gordon replied. "Now, care to explain what the hell is going on?"

"I wish I could," the other Jeff said, the mirth subsiding as reality struck like a hot iron. "I truly do. But I don't."

"An' neither do I," Phones said, finally stepping forward. He grinned and shook his head. "Gordon Tracy, as Ah live and breathe. Y'know, Ah shouldn't be as surprised as Ah am. Never understood why you gave up a career in W.A.S.P. – but now Ah get it."

Reaching out a hand, Gordon grinned. They exchanged a tight handshake.

"Phones," he said. "I see they finally gave you your own ship. How's Tempest going to survive without you?"

Barking out a laugh, Phones shrugged.

"Let's just say, things are very different for him now," he said. "But I'm not complainin'. Ah like bein' the boss, for once."

"I'm sure you do!" Gordon said. Then he looked at Jeff again. "We'd best get going," he said. "My father wants to meet you. I hope you're prepared for a grilling."

The other man raised one eyebrow in a way that was so reminiscent of his father that Gordon stepped back.

"I think I'll be able to handle it," the other Jeff said.

Then he turned to Phones and reached out a hand.

"Thank you for everything," he said.

Phones grabbed Jeff's hand, pulled him forward and into a brief embrace.

"This ain't over yet," he said. "Y'all needa keep me informed," he said. "If you can figure out what's happened to you, then we might be able to figure out what the hell is goin' on with all these barrels fallin' from the sky."

"Will do," Jeff said. "Thanks again."

"Any time," he said. Then he turned to Gordon. "Good to see you again, kid," he said. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"I'll hold you to that," Gordon replied.

At that, he gave Phones a snappy salute and grinned when it was returned. Then, he looked at the man who wasn't his father and gestured to the airlock.

"Let's go," he said.

 **~oOo~**

Family meeting. That was a phrase John hadn't heard since he was a teenager. His father and sometimes Scott – had called family meetings, never for a pleasant reason. Usually, it had involved some kind of new law being laid down. This time, though, John thought as he sat on an unfamiliar green couch, Lyra sandwiched between himself and a freshly showered Elijah, he wasn't sure what to expect. Because it wasn't his family. Because it wasn't his home. And yet here he was, surrounded by people that were partly familiar and yet partly alien.

The room was alive with a buzz of conversation, with the occasional clink of a glass or a mug. Still unable to make out exactly what was happening, John looked over Lyra's head to catch Elijah's eyes.

"Who's here and who's not?" he asked.

When Elijah replied, his voice still had the shell shocked tone it had taken on after John had explained what had happened – or at least, what he knew.

"Uhh, there are three of them here," he said. "Plus the woman and Grandma – and 'Brains' as just appeared. And he's walking towards us."

Squinting, John watched as the brown and pink blur came towards him, flanked by the black and white creature that he'd been told was called M.A.X.

"H-hello, John," Brains said as he descended the three stairs to the living area. "I have s-something that I h-hope will solve your sight problems. At least t-temporarily. M-may I?"

John made an open gesture with his hands and nodded.

"Go ahead," he said. "Whatever it is, it can only be an improvement on everything being a blur."

Two gentle hands settled on his face and shoulder, and something cold was slid onto his face. Instinctively, John closed his eyes.

"O-okay," Brains said. "These are g-glasses I made on the fabricator. They're not p-particularly fashionable, but they should correct your vision. O-open your eyes."

Doing as he was told, John slowly opened one eye and then the other. An unfamiliar world swirled before him, a technicolour puzzle that took his breath away. The face in front of him was unmistakably Brains, and yet it _wasn't_. This man's appearance matched his voice – he was of Indian descent, not white. But the blue glasses were there, and beneath them, a pair of eyes that might have been a different colour, but were filled with the same compassion that John knew.

"Wow," he breathed. "I – I can see."

"Excellent," Brains said, withdrawing his hand. Then he turned around. "You see?" he said. "I t-told you I could d-do it."

A series of bleeps and whirs caught John's attention. He looked up to see the metal spider that Lyra had talked about. _M.A.X._ , he thought. _He's a lot more impressive looking than Braman!_

As if he had woken from a dream, John started drinking in every detail around him. It was like he was looking at life from an entirely new angle. Brains's glasses hadn't just corrected his vision. They had brought life back into the same sharp focus that John hadn't experienced since he was a kid. Everything was bright and beautiful, the house an explosion of colour and light. His mouth fell open as he looked up at the clear sphere of hexagonal glass that made up the roof. Then he dropped his gaze and looked from the broad sweep of windows that looked out onto a pool and the ocean.

Unable to stop himself, he stood and blinked, taking in everything he could. There was a grand piano to the right, but it wasn't the pure white of his mother's baby grand. It was polished black, almost like onyx, and not sullied with so much as one fingerprint. Nearby, flat against the wall, was a tall portrait of a rocket – and John knew exactly where it would lead. _Thunderbird Two_.

Then he turned his attention back to the living area and his lungs froze. There was Gordon, but it _wasn't_. He was shorter – and _blond_. Beside him, a figure stood, his face painted with wonder.

" _Alan_?"


	13. Chapter 13

The resemblance was inimitable. _Impossible_. And yet there was something different, something that went beyond the clear difference in age. This Alan was younger, probably still a teenager, but his face was brighter, more open. The smile that John was graced with was something he hadn't received from his Alan in many years.

"I guess I am!" the teenager said.

Then John turned his attention to the gentle giant that hovered nearby.

"Virgil," he said. "I… I can't believe it."

"Neither can we," the black-haired Virgil said.

The resemblance was clear as crystal – the only difference seemed to be the hair, both colour and style. His brother's carefully brushed chestnut locks had been replaced by an ebony peak.

"This is insane," John breathed.

"You're tellin' me!"

He looked over at the grey-haired woman sitting to Virgil's left. John couldn't help his grin.

"Grandma?" he asked. "You look so…"

"Old?" the woman quipped.

"No, _young_ ," John replied.

Grandma grinned and jerked her head to the side.

"This one I like," she said. She looked over at Gordon and Alan and wagged a finger. "That's how to give a compliment," she said.

To her right, standing underneath her own portrait, was a figure that was the least familiar of all those assembled. John narrowed his eyes as he tried to place her. There was some resemblance to Tin-Tin, but it was nowhere near as stark as the resemblance of the men to his brothers. She had the same hazel eyes, but her skin was darker – and her attitude was entirely opposite. She regarded him with crossed arms and cool reserve in her eyes.

But then John's attention was taken by something he never thought he'd see.

Himself, walking towards him, with Scott following close behind.

The other John walked towards him, his back ramrod straight. He took the steps two at a time and landed hard on the carpet, the boots of his high-tech spacesuit flattening the fibres. Scott hopped down behind him.

The room fell silent as the two Johns stood in front of one another, toe-to-toe.

The redhead John stared at him with eyes as cold as stone. They were green where his own were blue. The curl of his cowlick wasn't as pronounced, almost more reserved than John's own thick twist. He was a little taller, a little thinner. John swallowed. It was almost like looking at himself ten years before – albeit with a dye job.

When he spoke, his voice was different. Not quite as clipped as John's own. Not quite as quick.

"Who are you?" the other John demanded.

"I…"

It was a question that hit far harder than it ever should have. It was simple, yet the answer seemed incomprehensible. _Who am I? Who am I, really?_ A father. A son. A soon-to-be-husband. An astronaut. A linguist. A researcher. An author.

A victim.

A survivor.

"I…" He swallowed. A cold chill swept over his body as those green eyes bored into him. "I think I need to sit down."

"John, back off."

The voice was Scott's and it wasn't directed at him. It was aimed at the other. Feeling his legs start to give way beneath him, John stumbled back and found himself being lowered onto the couch.

" _Tá tú ceart go leor. Tá mé tú_."

Elijah's words swirled around in his head as he sank back. _You're okay. I've got you_. But John wasn't so sure on the first part.

 **~oOo~**

As the man who claimed to be him fell back into the sofa, pallid and glassy-eyed, John shook his head.

"Uh huh," he said.

Someone grabbed his elbow and he was pulled backwards. He turned and pinned Scott with a vicious glare.

"Don't be such an asshole," Scott said.

Pulling his arm free, John planted one hand on his hip.

"I'm not being an asshole," he said, nostrils flaring.

"You kind of are!"

Gordon piped up – and John dealt out another filthy look.

"I am not," he said, internally cringing at the petulance in his own tone. "But how do you expect me to react? Someone comes here and claims to be me – how would you like it if it was you?" He shook his head. "And anyway, the last time someone impersonated me, I nearly died. Do you remember that, _Gordon_?"

The look that he received in return was laced in fury.

"Yes, I do remember, _Johnny_ ," he said, deliberately emphasising the nickname John hated. "But as far as I can see, this guy has no malevolent intentions. None of them do. _They_ were the ones who nearly died, for Christ's sake. Just stop being such a dick."

Before he could reply, John yelped.

Someone had _kicked_ him.

He looked down to see a tiny girl glaring up at him, her hands raised in fists. And this time, it was _this_ John's turn to go pale.

"Leave my Daddy alone!" she yelled.

It was like looking at himself at five years old, gender flipped and furious.

"What the…"

John stepped backwards, the furious gaze of the girl not abating. Scott was at his elbow again and pulled him backwards, plonking him on one of the lounge chairs.

"I told you the resemblance was striking," Scott said as he sat down beside him.

Trying not to let his jaw hang open, John shook his head. The girl stalked towards him, one finger waving in his face.

"You might look like my Daddy but you aren't allowed to be mean to him! My Daddy is the best person in the world and you don't get to do that!"

John's mouth worked but no sound was forthcoming. The girl stuck her tongue out at him and turned on her heels, long blond braids whipping in the air as she stomped back to her father's side. John gulped.

"Consider yourself put in your place," Scott muttered, grinning.

John's glare was withering, this time.

"Whatever."

He turned to see Virgil hopping down with a glass of water, pressing it into the other John's hand. The man was older; of that he was certain. There was a tiredness around his eyes – not to mention the glasses – that betrayed his age. His was more lined and he was heavier than John would have expected. Nowhere near fat, but not as lean as John had always been.

The man accepted the water gratefully and took a sip, reclining and pulling his fingers through his blond quiff. John turned his attention to the redhead with the broken arm who was sitting beside him. This man, pale and freckled, his head haloed in curls, was a complete stranger. From the way he was sitting, leaning towards the doppelganger, the way he had his good hand on his shoulder…

Well, _that_ was a thing.

As the other John regained his composure, John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He knew he was being an asshole. But what did they expect, really? If it had been an alternative Scott or an alternative Virgil who had fallen out of the sky, how would they have reacted?

The blond John set the glass aside and sat up again, smiling gratefully at the redhead beside him.

"Feeling better?" Virgil asked.

"Yes, thanks," the blond said. "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't worry," Gordon chirped up. "Lots of people have that reaction to John. That's why we keep him up in space."

The humour was laced with venom but John had to grit his teeth and accept it. He knew he deserved it.

"Well," Scott said, ever the leader. "Now that we're together, I think it's time we talked about what's happened – properly, in as much detail as possible. Then maybe we can figure out what the hell has happened."

Brains piped up.

"I h-have a few th-theories about that, Scott," he said. "I t-took the liberty of recovering the b-black box recorder from the debris. It took a while to a-access the information, but I m-managed it."

"Any deductions?" Scott asked.

Brains nodded.

"Y-yes," he said. "J-judging by the information on the box, the plane was on course from co-ordinates very similar to those of T-Tracy Island. But I cross-referenced the d-data with Thunderbird Five's sensor logs and there is n-no record of the aircraft even existing before it a-appeared near the crash site." Brains looked around the room. "Th-the only p-plausible explanations are these: the aircraft was equipped with some kind of shield that stopped Thunderbird Five's sensors from picking it up – a shield that subsequently failed – or that the airplane truly did a-appear at that point in time."

Scott frowned.

"But how are either of those possible?" he asked. "No offense intended, but that plane was decades out of date. I doubt it would have that technology. And secondly, _how_ can a plane just appear in mid-air?"

"We didn't."

John turned as he heard his own voice – or a close approximation of it – speak up. He narrowed his eyes as the usurper continued to speak.

"We didn't appear in mid-air," he said. "We were pulled towards something, _through_ something, and when we emerged on the other side, Tracy One's systems were completely fried. We left Tracy Island – _our_ Tracy Island – earlier in the day. That's why that information is on the black box. We were on our way to New Zealand and the course took us through an area where there had been some disturbances – including a downed plane. A plane that, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't have existed. A plane that looked so advanced it was almost alien."

Scott turned to face John.

"At what co-ordinates did you lose Dad's signal?" he asked.

Standing, John strode to the holo-projector and pulled up a globe. He tapped in a few commands and the location where their father's plane had disappeared was plotted with a warning symbol.

"There," he said.

"And Brains," Scott continued, "what was the exact co-ordinate where we found the wreckage?"

Appearing at John's side, Brains keyed in some information. Another warning symbol appeared, almost directly on top of the first.

"Th-there," he said. "The co-ordinates of the two sites are within a square mile of one another. It's h-highly improbably that this is a co-incidence."

John looked at the two warning symbols, then through the blue holographic globe and at the blond interloper who was staring right back.

"Do you have an explanation, Brains?" Scott asked.

But it wasn't Brains who answered. It was two Johns in tandem.

"Many-worlds," they said.

Scott's face stretched with confusion.

"Huh?"

"The many-worlds interpretation," John said, shrinking the holographic globe and pulling an identical one up beside it. "It's an interpretation of quantum mechanics. In brief, it means that all possible universes and histories can and do exist, and that every decision – even a minute one – can and does create an alternative universe. Ever heard of Schrodinger's Cat?"

"Whose cat now?" Scott replied, one eyebrow high up on his forehead.

"Schrodinger's Cat. It's a thought experiment where – look, never mind that," John said. He started manipulating the two globes. "Think of it this way. We have our Earth, but for every decision that we make, there's a different outcome. What happens when we make a decision is that our universe continues along those lines. However, at the exact same time, a completely separate reality is created where an alternative outcome takes place." He brought up a simulation of two planes on a collision course. "What might happen is that one plane will pull up." He manipulated the hologram so the planes didn't crash. "But in this universe," he said, turning to the other globe, "the reality is created that the planes do collide. Thus, two different realities."

"But like," Alan said, popping up at John's elbow, "with Schrodinger, the two realities diverge and they aren't supposed to even know that the other exists. If these guys are from another reality," he said, gesturing at the two men and the girl on the couch, "then it's a violation of the principle of locality."

"It also has implications for the law of conservation of energy," the other John said, standing up. "Not to mention the issues it raises for time – because if we split forwards but not backwards, it's not compatible with Schrodinger's equation and –"

"Alright, alright," Gordon said, pressing his fingers to his ears. "I can't take all this science stuff. Can we have the potted version?"

John rolled his eyes. Brains chuckled.

"In theory, these three have crossed into our reality from another reality," he said. Then he sobered. "And, in theory, that means your father may have crossed from out reality into another. Possibly theirs and yet, possibly not."

"Oh, man," Gordon said, flopping down onto a nearby seat.

John deactivated the globes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's all just a theory," he said. "We still don't know anything until it's been proven."

Scott nodded.

"Kayo – I think we need your expertise. Can you fly out in Thunderbird Shadow and scope out the area? If this…whatever it is, has happened twice, it's possible that it'll happen again. There might be something there that we haven't seen before – or something might appear. We can monitor the situation using Five's sensors as well."

Blond John turned to look at Kayo, turned his attention back to Scott.

"Thunderbird Shadow?" he asked.

As Kayo strode off to launch, she called out over her shoulder.

"That's on a need to know only basis," she said. "And I don't think you need to know."

Unable to stop himself, John chuckled and dropped his arms to his sides.

"Well, I should get going –"

" _No_ ," Scott said.

His tone made John stop in his tracks and turn.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"You can analyse the data from down here," he said. "We've already routed control of Five to the station here. I'm ordering you to take a few days, Earth-side. You've been up there too long."

Pursing his lips to stop the vitriolic retort from escaping, John shook his head. After a moment, he gave the tiniest of nods.

"Whatever you say, Scott." The words were pleasant but his tone was far from conciliatory. "In that case, I'm going to get changed."

With that, he strode off – not once looking back at the sea of faces that watched him go.


	14. Chapter 14

Jeff met his visitor on Two's runway. Scott and Virgil flanked him as he waited for the stranger to appear. Blindfolded, the usurper was led forward, his W.A.S.P. regulation footwear thudding on the hot tarmac. Gordon had a hand on his arm.

It was like looking at a brother.

His lungs filling with lead, Jeff waited with his arms folded. Gordon pulled the blindfold from the other man's face. When their eyes met, Jeff couldn't breathe. It was like looking at himself two, three decades before. Hair more pepper than salt, but the eyes: blue as ice. Blue as his own.

"I think you have some explaining to do," Jeff said.

His doppelganger nodded.

"I'll tell you everything I know," he said. "But in truth, it's not a lot. I don't know how I came to be here, sir. But I can tell you that I want to get home. I want to go home to my boys."

There was something about the way his voice fell on the last word that made Jeff all the more aware of his two sons, standing left and right, the sturdiest of heads and hands. Breathing deeply, he nodded.

"I know how you feel," he said, surprised at the gentleness in his own gruff voice. "I think I'd feel that way too."

Ever the breaker of ice, Gordon leaned on one hip and lifted a hand in a grand gesture.

"We are fantastic," he said.

Both Jeffs chuckled in unison. The sound resonated deep within them; something clicked.

"Let's go to my office and talk," Jeff said. "Let's see if we can't figure out what the hell is going in."

 **~oOo~**

Ascension Technologies. There was a time when those two words meant something to him. But now…

Paul Garnett slammed his hands flat on the polished surface of his desk and jammed his eyes shut. _Now what does it mean?_ he asked. _What does it stand for?_ To an outsider, it meant the same as it always had. A progressive company dedicated not only to providing cheap, clean fuel, but also to cleaning up the drastic mess left behind by decades of reliance on nuclear power – not to mention the fallout of the Global Conflict of 2040.

 _I worked so hard,_ Garnett thought, slowly drawing his hands into fists. _I did everything right. I worked well, made the right choices… And it was all for nothing._ Nothing _at all…_

Flinging himself back in his chair, Garnett swiveled around to face the light that streamed in from outside. His headquarters were located in Unity City, along with the seat of the World Government and the big brass of the GDF. Ascension Tech literally did ascend into the skies, in a dizzying skyscraper that he had built using green energy. It was the first fully green build after the war.

The city stretched out in front of him; everything seemed so insignificant from his penthouse office – a corner location, just like he had dreamed of at twenty-five when he'd been a plucky lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force. That was before the conflict, before the World Government. Back when the planet was ruled by men with iron fists and bottomless pockets that they loved to fill for their own benefit.

When the conflict had started, Garnett had been placed under the command of a man who shared the same distaste for selfish gain and the destruction of the planet. The man who had helped him start Ascension Technologies twenty years before. A man who would be appalled to see the monster that Garnett had become.

Tracy. Jeff Tracy.

Garnett spun away from the window again. He couldn't bear it. Not anymore. He couldn't look down at the green world he had helped to create – the same world he was now helping to destroy.

And for what? Selfish benefit. All to protect his son.

 _Jeff, you had five sons of your own_ , Garnett thought, leaning back on the table and reaching for a cold cup of coffee. _What would you have done? If you were faced with the choice, would you have done the same as me?_

He pushed the cup away and snorted. _No, you wouldn't have. You would have done the right thing. You would have worked for the greater good. You would have made your son suffer the consequences of his actions, not try to cover up the damage he had done. You would have said no…_

There were many ways in which Paul Garnett was not Jeff Tracy. There were reasons beyond age that accounted for Tracy's captaincy and Garnett's stagnation at lieutenant. There were _reasons_ that Ascension Technologies had needed Tracy's help. Jeff had the brains and the balls – Garnett just had the heart. And that was not enough. Especially not when the heart was weak and pliable. When the heart was easily manipulated.

Christopher had been a first class idiot to do what he had done. _I thought I'd taught him better than that. I thought I'd brought him up to be a good man._ At twenty-five, the age at which his father had been making plans for penthouse office suites and a green world, Christopher Garnett had been dealing with people he knew nothing about. He had moved in cryptic circles, circles that had trapped him, an ever shifting maze from which there was no escape.

He'd been involved in drugs and arms. He'd been a _fool_.

Everything would have gone public if it hadn't been for the deal with the devil. A deal that Jeff Tracy would never have made, even to save his own son.

The comm. on his desk sounded.

" _Mr Garnett_?"

It was his personal assistant.

"Yes, Stephen?"

" _Mr Mardochaios is here for your meeting_."

Clenching his fists to try to still their shaking, Garnett replied.

"Send him in," he said.

" _Yes, sir._ "

Garnett stood. He straightened his tie, adjusting the three hundred dollar pin that held it in place. He stepped out from behind the desk. He steeled his face, tried to harden his heart.

Then the devil walked in the door.

 **~oOo~**

They talked for hours. By the time Kyrano appeared at the office door with a tray of scotch and three sparkling glasses, night had long fallen. Jeff beckoned his old friend in and Kyrano laid the tray on the table.

"Kyrano, this is… Jeff. _Another_ Jeff." he said. _This is going to get confusing…_

With a shallow bow, Kyrano smiled.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," he said.

The younger Jeff turned in his chair and tilted his head to the side as he regarded the Malaysian man.

"Kyrano?" he asked. "Wow. You look…different."

Chuckling, Kyrano straightened and gave the smallest of smiles.

"I do not look any different than I did yesterday," he said. "Rather, I believe it is your eyes that see someone that I am not."

The younger Jeff grinned.

"Now, that sounds like my old friend," he said. "My Kyrano spoke in riddles more than straight-cut words."

Kyrano reached for the decanter of scotch and waited for Jeff's nod to continue. Ever-inquisitive, Scott leaned forward and caught the younger Jeff's gaze. For a moment, Jeff simply watched the play of emotion over the faces of both men. _They're so alike,_ he thought. _It really brings into perspective just how much Scott looks like me…_

"There's a Kyrano in your, uhh, _reality_?" Scott asked, stumbling on the last word. No one quite knew how to describe the situation into which they had been thrust.

Young Jeff's face fell and his eyes flicked up at Kyrano, who was gracefully filling the glasses.

"There was," he said. "He was a good friend of mine – my best friend, in fact. He helped set up International Rescue with me, But… He died. More accurately, he was killed in a standoff with a lone gunman." Breaking off, he accepted the glass Scott gave him. "He and his daughter – Tanusha – were living with us on the island and when he passed, I became her legal guardian." He looked at Kyrano with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" Kyrano asked, but the tone of his voice said more than his words. He _knew_.

"I just…" Young Jeff shook his head. "I wish I could have told him that, before he died. I wish I could have said how grateful I was for everything he had done for me – and how much I wished that I could have saved him. But… We just didn't get there in time."

Clearing his throat, Jeff stood.

"To old friends – and those who have left us behind," he said.

Young Jeff and Scott stood and raised their glasses to his. The sound of crystal tumblers chinking off one another filled the air. Kyrano bowed his head for a moment. Then, they drank.

Sighing with satisfaction, Jeff sat back down and placed his glass on one of the leather coasters.

"Will there be anything else?" Kyrano asked.

"No, thank you," Jeff replied.

Smiling, Kyrano stepped back.

"In that case, I think I will go visit my daughter and our grandson," he said. "This talk of mortality has made me keen to spend the time I have wisely. We are only on this world once, after all."

He slipped off, silent as smoke. When Jeff returned his attention to his younger self, he was met with a curious gaze.

" _Our_ grandson?" Young Jeff asked.

Chuckling, Jeff nodded.

"Yes. Kyrano's daughter Tin-Tin is married to my Alan," he said. "They were married a few years ago and have a son, Adam. She's pregnant with her second now."

Sitting back, Young Jeff swirled the amber liquid around in his glass.

"My god," he said, shaking his head. "Alan, a _father_? It sounds insane."

"That's exactly what we thought at first," Scott said with a grin. "But it's really made him grow up. He was always a little…immature."

"I know that one well," Young Jeff said. "Between my Gordon and Alan, there's enough immaturity for five Tracy families!" Then he sobered a little, staring down at the ripples in the glass. "That's not entirely fair," he said. "They can be plenty mature when they need to be."

Scott nodded and drained his glass.

"Sounds like a similar story to here, at least when we first started out. Both Alan and Gordon have grown up a lot. They both have partners – one has kids… Much as I hate to admit it, they're adults now. Heck, I'm nearly forty!"

Whistling through his teeth, Young Jeff shook his head.

"That's hard to believe," he said. "My Scott is still in his twenties. Alan's only seventeen!"

His shock turning into a yawn, Young Jeff covered his mouth. Taking it as a sign, Jeff drained his glass and set it back on the tray.

"I think we've talked enough for one night," he said, rising. "We should all get some rest."

"Right," Scott said.

Once all three glasses were back on the tray and the decanter was sealed again, Young Jeff stood and placed his hands behind his back.

"Please feel free to put me somewhere you can monitor my movements," he said. "We've had a great chat but if I were you – and in some ways I _am_ – I would still have my doubts. Do what you need to do for security."

"Thank you for your understanding," Jeff said. "I believe Mother has made up the guest room for you but… I can't promise that there aren't any hidden security measures."

"I'd be disappointed in me if there weren't," came the reply.

For a moment, all three men were silent. Then, Jeff barked out a laugh.

"Let's go to bed," he said, "before my brain turns to mush trying to make sense of all of this…"

 **~oOo~**

"Well, well," Mardochaios said as he strolled into the office, as if it was his own. "I'm so glad you were able to squeeze me into your… _busy_ schedule."

Garnett's arms shook but he tried to still them. Fear and fury churned within him in equal measure.

"What choice did I have?" he snapped.

Chuckling, Mardochaios approached the desk and plucked up one of the silver balls of a Newton's Cradle. It had pride of place, right next to a picture of the Garnett family – father, mother and son. He let the ball go and set into motion the rest of them. The _click-click_ was impossibly loud.

"Very true," Mardochaios said. "Very, very true,"

Garnett regarded the man with cold eyes. He was tall, commanding – but there was something _off_ about his appearance. Something Garnett couldn't place. And his eyes… Sometimes it seemed as though Mardochaios's eyes changed colour from one day to the next. _I should never have trusted him_ , he thought. _I should never have got involved._

"Now," the other man said, perching on the edge of Garnett's desk and folding his arms. "There is a small matter that I need to discuss with you. Something that, frankly, I am _surprised_ you didn't mention before."

Every syllable of that clipped British accent was uttered with such disdain that it made Garnett shiver. He tried to keep his back straight and his arms steady.

"Oh?" he asked.

Hitching up one pant leg of his designer suit to make himself more comfortable, Mardochaios's expression darkened.

"Don't play dumb with me," he snapped. "You know exactly what I'm referring to. When I gave you that technology to dispose of my nuclear waste, I told you that you must report any unusual activity to me straight away. Did I not tell you that, _Garnett_?"

Swallowing hard, Garnett nodded.

"Yes, you did. I –"

"Then why is it," Mardochaios cut in, his volume rising with each word, "that I have discovered – quite independently of the reports you have sent me – that the area in which you are using the technology has been the site of many aircraft disappearances and also crashes of strange planes, hmm? Why did I not hear that information from _you_?"

Licking his cracked lips, Garnett stepped back. The glass loomed behind him – as did the one hundred floor drop below.

"I didn't… We weren't sure exactly what was happening," he said. "I wanted… I wanted to make sure I wasn't wasting your time."

Stepping so close that Garnett could feel the other man's hot breath on his skin, Mardochaios reached out and grabbed him by the throat. With a slam, he was pinned against the glass, his fingertips scrabbling against the smooth surface.

"You _have_ wasted my time," Mardochaios ground out. "A substantial amount of it. I have many pressing issues to deal with – but not only that, what you have discovered about the technology could prove very useful in my… _line_ of work. And you have kept it from me!"

"I was just doing what you asked," Garnett squeaked, the words barely escaping his throat as the other man's grip tightened. "I didn't realise…"

"Shut up," Mardochaios snapped. "And consider yourself warned. If you keep anything from me again, I will out your dirty little secret to the world. I'll upend the green rock you've built and show everyone the filth underneath. And rest assured, _you_ will take the blame for dumping the nuclear waste. _Your_ reputation will be destroyed. And myself?" He chuckled – but there was no mirth in the sound. "I'll get away scot-free."

The glass grew warm under Garnett's fingertips. It fogged up under the pressure and heat of his hands.

Then Mardochaios relinquished his grip; Garnett's fingers went to his throat as he sucked in great gasps of air. Eyes streaming, he bent and stumbled and looked up. Something was _wrong_.

Mardochaios's face seemed to flicker. It was as though there was another face, another person, underneath. _What the…?_

Then the flicker was gone and his face was back to normal. Garnett choked and spluttered as he righted himself again.

"I want to see what happens when you open that portal," Mardochaios said. "I want to know where it really goes. Schedule an opening for tomorrow night – three a.m. Tell as few people as possible and keep to a skeleton crew. I'll meet you there. This…" He broke off with a self-indulgent chuckle and planted one hand on his hip. "This could be a game changer."

"What game?" Garnett burst out. "What do you mean? Who are you _really_?"

Mardochaios's lips curled in a sardonic scowl.

"The less you know, the better," he said. "Believe me."


	15. Chapter 15

Quite what was going on, John didn't know. One thing was certain, though. In this universe, International Rescue was _busy_.

Back home, it wasn't uncommon to get stretches of five, six days without a call for rescue – sometimes even more. Days were long enough on satellite duty, but when there was nothing to _do_ , they became interminable. This version of Tracy Island saw the launch of at least one Thunderbird nearly every day – and frequently more than once. It wasn't uncommon for Four to go solo, and for One, Two and Three to be out in different places at the same time. From what he'd gathered, even their Five seemed able to get in on the action. And Thunderbird Shadow, whatever it was, seemed in almost constant operation.

Indeed, John had just watched the elusive craft launch, disappearing like a great black bird against the blueness of the sky. He gripped the balcony rail and shook his head. _It's impressive, whatever it is_. The breeze ruffled his fair hair.

It had been two days since he and Elijah had regained consciousness. In that time, John had seen so many similarities and yet so many differences, too. There were times when the brothers were all together and, if he closed his eyes, John could hear his own family in the rise and fall of the pitch and tone.

Then he would open his eyes and remember that they weren't his brothers and this wasn't his home.

Not at all.

Still, there was some comfort to be gained from it. This universe's Alan seemed a damn sight more interested in space than John's own brother was. In fact, he had promised to regale the teenager with the entirety of his career in the World Space Association.

A keen observer of body language – and knowing himself well – John had detected the slight shift in his red-headed counterpart that signalled his disapproval at that. The other John had kept well away from him, spending most of his time sitting at the desk and monitoring communications.

 _He doesn't like me_ , John thought. _And why should he? How would I like it if someone turned up claiming to be_ me? _Well, sort of. I'm not claiming to be anyone other than myself. It's just that we happen to be the same person? Argh!_ John ran his fingers through his blond forelock and shook his head. _This doesn't make any sense_.

Turning from the sunlit vista that spread out across the horizon, John leaned against the balcony rail and stared into the villa. There he was, red-head John, hunched over their father's desk and manipulating holographic displays with his slender fingers. _He looks so serious_ , John thought, crossing his arms over his chest. _Do I always look that serious?_ He reached up and adjusted his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. _Am I that cold? Or is it just because I'm, well,_ me _? Him. Whatever._ John rolled his eyes up and sighed. _I wish there was a better way to think about this. But I am myself and he is himself, and yet we're both the same – and different._

John saw a lot of his old self in this younger version. Cosmetic differences aside, the two men shared a lot of similarities. When he had been in his early twenties, John had shared the long and lanky build his counterpart had. They had the same clipped expression and the ability to convey as much meaning as he could in as few words as possible. There was a speed to their speech, a learned behaviour from the requirements of the job.

This John seemed to have more power, John thought. He lowered his head, glancing down at the toes of his borrowed shoes. Their father appeared to have been missing for a long time, far longer than the strange incidents with downed planes had been going on in John's own reality. In his absence, the space monitor's job had become more than a simple relaying of information. This John seemed to take more responsibility, and between himself and Scott, they performed the role Jeff did in John's own universe. _I wonder if he likes it more than I do…_ John thought. _He wanted to go back to Five. I'll take any opportunity I can to stay at home, and not just because of my family. It's so lonely up there, and yet for him it seems to be… Well,_ home _._ Looking back up, John sighed. _I guess we're not so similar, after all_.

Family. That word got him thinking. Lyra had been charming the Dickens out of everyone she could, and her current favourite was Brains, whom she was currently with. He had ' _cool machines'_ , to use his daughter's words. John chuckled. _She is just too precious_. His smile slipped when he thought of Elijah. Worn out and worn down by the situation, he spent most of his time resting. They were no longer in the infirmary, but rather had been moved to one of the guest bedrooms in the upper level of the villa.

Sighing, John nudged himself away from the rail and let his arms drop. _I should probably go a retrieve my daughter_ , he thought as he walked towards the entrance. _Hopefully she hasn't broken anything…_

As he entered the lounge and headed for the stairs that led to the underground complex where Brains's lab was located, John shivered. He looked across at the desk. He saw himself staring back, with narrowed green eyes. And instead of turning right towards the stairs, he turned left and headed to his counterpart.

Around the holographic globe, the little Thunderbird icons indicated that the craft were returning to base – with the exception of Shadow, which was heading away.

John stopped a few meters from the desk and folded his arms again.

Those green eyes stared back, hard as emeralds.

 **~oOo~**

The entire situation was _absurd_. This was a fact. John manipulated the holographic readout in front of him, tracking Thunderbird Shadow as Kayo headed off to chase another lead on _whatever_ it was she was investigating. She wasn't transparent enough about her activities for John's liking. But then, no one was. John wanted to know everything about everything – it was one of the benefits of working on Five. He had access to whatever data he wanted.

Not like on the island, where his access was stunted. Yes, he had all the data he needed for monitoring rescues. But he didn't have the immediate access to everything that Five afforded him. _I wish I could just go back up_ , John thought, watching the little Thunderbird One icon hover over the rescue in the Atlantic. Two's icon bobbed along beside it. _I can't listen to Scott's nagging, though. That's the only thing keeping me grounded_.

On a normal day, John would rather have been up on Five than down on the island. Today, though, he had more significant concerns regarding remaining Earth-bound.

His gaze flicked across to the balcony, to the figure with its back to him. To the blond version of _himself_.

John returned his attention to the globe, trying to focus on monitoring rescues that were going perfectly and didn't require monitoring. Without meaning to, he found his eyes sliding back towards the slim figure leaning on the rail outside.

As much as he wanted to deny all similarity with the older man, John couldn't. He would have been lying to himself, and if there was one thing John couldn't stand, it was lying. Even with blond hair that was going white at the temples, even under the scattershot crow's feet, even with the camouflage of glasses, you didn't need to squint to see the resemblance between them. It was like looking forward in time, at a self that didn't exist yet, but was right there in front of him.

 _But it's not me_.

'It' was the most appropriate pronoun for the other John, as far as he was concerned. To call it a 'he' seemed an insult. _It's not me_ , he thought. _I don't want to even acknowledge that it's a real thing_.

Grunting, John shook his head. _It's not me_ , he repeated. _It can't be me. I am myself, and no one else can be the same._ But when he had stood toe to toe with the other man, his chest had quivered. He had bitten his lip. Because in those eyes, blue instead of green, he saw something that he never thought he would see. John saw depth. He saw love. But worst of all, he saw _pain_. There was a vulnerability when the other man was close to blind that John never wanted to see again. He hadn't wanted to be within arm's length of that pain. Twenty-two thousand miles didn't even seem like enough distance.

What had caused such pain?

 _I don't want to know,_ John thought. _And yet, I_ do _want to know. I want to know what could make me hurt so much – and yet, why does it matter? I'm not it and it's not me. We cannot be the same. What hurts it might not hurt me. Situations it's been in are situations I will probably never encounter_.

Alan had asked him why he was being so cold with the other John. He hadn't had the heart to tell him the truth.

Putting all that aside, there was still something wrong with seemingly meeting yourself. On a purely scientific level, John was sceptical of the whole thing. The many-worlds interpretation had seemed great when it was just a theory. Intriguing, even. But now, with reality and _proof_ seeming to stare him in the face, John was not so enamoured. _On an intellectual level, it's fascinating_ , he thought. _Biologically, the closeness in the match of DNA is pretty solid proof. But from an emotional viewpoint?_ He snorted. _Get that thing the hell away from me as fast as possible. I don't want to have anything to do with it…_

No matter how many times he thought that, no matter how many times he tried to focus his attention on monitoring the rescues, he found his eyes wandering back to the figure. It had turned around, had folded its arms, had its eyes cast down at the ground.

 _I wonder what's going through his –_ its _– mind,_ John thought. _If the tables were turned, how would I feel?_

As much as there were similarities, there were certainly differences between them that went beyond appearance and age. _That_ John was a father, allegedly a fiancé to the Irishman, though John saw no ring. _This_ John had no intentions of being with anyone, and certainly had no aspiration to be a father.

 _That_ John seemed to have had a career before International Rescue that had taken him to parts of the solar system John had never been. Missions to Mercury, missions to the asteroid belt, missions to Mars… John shook his head. Alan had been so excited to learn of the blond's vast array of space exploration stories. And _this_ John would have been lying if he had denied the sharp pang of jealously he had felt on seeing the adoration in his little brother's eyes.

 _Alan's supposed to look up to_ me _,_ he thought. _He's supposed to ask_ me _questions about the stars and the planets and the universe…_ There had been no malicious intent behind either Alan or the blond usurper's conversations. Regardless, John felt wounded. _It's like that…person, is infringing on my family. My brothers_.

It wasn't the intent but it was certainly the consequence.

Shaking his head, John sighed. He listened as Scott and Virgil called in. He responded. He called them home. The little icons started moving back towards the island.

Then he heard a noise as the door from the patio opened. John stared across as the Other slid the glass shut behind him. He paused for a moment, then made as if he was heading for the stairs.

But then he stopped again, then changed direction. He was walking over, towards John and the globe.

Hard green eyes met rounded blue ones.

John stared. Then he stood. The blond man let his arms hang loose at his sides.

"What do you want?" John asked, standing and crossing his arms.

There was no response for a moment. Then the blond opened his red lips.

"I want to know what's wrong," it asked.

There was another pause. John tried to stop the flutter in his chest. He willed his heart to cease its thundering. _Why does he make me so angry?_ he asked. But he knew the answer, more or less. It was a moot question.

"What's wrong is that you're here," John said. The words came out like daggers. "You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be in this house, on this island. You. Shouldn't. Be. Here."

Those blue eyes flickered, then went flat as unpolished steel.

"I know," the Other said. "And I would give anything to get back home to my family."

John should have retorted with something sarcastic, some unbearably sharp and witty words that would have cut the Other off at the knees. But he didn't. The flatness of the eyes that lingered behind too-large glasses struck him like a blow to the chest. It was the same look he had seen in his own eyes since the day their father had disappeared. It was the reason John didn't look in mirrors. Not anymore.

He opened his mouth. He wanted to speak. But he couldn't. No words came out. Not even a sound.

And then the Other was gone, his back hunched under the cover of an ill-fitting shirt.

John watched him go. And his heart kept thundering in his chest.


	16. Chapter 16

It was nearing three am. and Paul Garnett's palms were sweaty. His skin was clammy and his stomach had the vague sensation of sickness it always did when he was embarking on a bad plan. _I just want to get out of here_ , he thought as he boarded the cargo plane. It was the vessel that would take him to the mysterious co-ordinates in the Pacific where so much strangeness had occurred. _But I can't do anything except what_ _Mardochaios tells me to do. He has me completely in his power…_

And of course, it was all Garnett's own fault. That was a fact he could not escape from.

Belting himself into a seat in the small passenger area near the cockpit, Garnett leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. But he did not have much time to wallow, for within a few seconds, he felt the touch of fingertips on his shoulder.

Jerking upright again, he saw Mardochaios grinning down at him, teeth bared like knives.

"Ready, are we?" he asked.

His eyes flickered in the too-bright cabin lighting, green to blue to green again – stopping off at something like yellow in between. Sitting back up, Garnett nodded as Mardochaios planted himself in the seat beside him.

"I've done everything you've asked," Garnett said. He licked his dry lips. The taste of scotch lingered on them. "The only crew is the pilot and the co-pilot. There are no others. And we have no cargo. But this is the plane that has the equipment to open the...portal, or whatever it is."

Mardochaios adjusted his high collar and grinned.

"Good, good," he said. "We'll open this doorway and see where it leads."

The earlier alcohol giving him a sudden surge of courage, Garnett turned in his seat.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked. "You said it would be a game-changer. What game? What do you mean?"

When Mardochaios chuckled, the sound was cold. It made Garnett shrink back in his seat.

"My dear fellow," he said, tipping his head to one side. "As cliché as this sounds, if I told you I _would_ have to kill you. It's all rather cloak and dagger, really, and it must simply remain that way."

Had he been a braver man, Garnett may have fought back. Had he been a braver man, he might have called the GDF. He might have organised a sting operation, might have had Mardochaios arrested, even turned himself in to face the consequences of his illegal dumping activities.

But he wasn't a braver man. Indeed, he was a coward. A middle-aged coward with a thickening waist and a son who didn't respect him. So instead of doing any of those things, Paul Garnett sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that the pilot would ditch the plane into the sea. And that would be the end of it all.

 **~oOo~**

It was approaching three a.m. and John was still awake. This was not an uncommon occurrence when he was Earth-side. Having become so used to sleeping in zero-g – for he always stopped the gravity ring and tethered himself to minimise drift – sleeping in a bed, with a mattress and blankets and pillows seemed alien to him. Not to mention that he kept falling out of bed. John rubbed the side of his head as he padded across to his father's desk, dressed in sleep shorts and a t-shirt. _Maybe Alan has the right idea by sleeping on the floor…_

He dropped down into the seat. The leather chair squeaked under his weight. The presence of gravity wasn't the only thing keeping him awake. His mind kept flicking back to the incident in the lounge earlier, when he was sitting on this very chair, at this very desk, and he had behaved like an absolute jackass. _I was just so angry_ , he thought as he brought the 3D globe hologram up, tapping a few codes in to have EOS route the data she was monitoring down to him.

Even as he did that, the words came back.

 _You. Shouldn't. Be. Here._

His words haunted him. But more than that, the reply was echoing around in his brain.

 _I know. And I would give anything to get back home to my family._

John sat back in the chair, watching as a few icons blinked and flickered around the globe. A fire here. A crash site there. Everything seemed relatively under control, at least for the moment. He crossed his arms and brought his bare feet up to rest on the edge of the leather upholstery.

 _I know how he feels_ , John thought, leaning his forehead on his knees. _I'd give anything to get my family back – get it back to normal. I'd do anything to find Dad. I'd sacrifice anything to bring Mom back. But there's nothing I can do and I feel so… Helpless. Which I guess is exactly how he feels, too_.

He. There was something entirely humanising about empathy. Earlier when he had been caught in the cold conduits of his own thoughts, his own wants and needs, John hadn't felt what the other man had felt. But now, he did. He could feel it all too well.

 _I would give anything to get back home to my family._

John was pulled from his thoughts with an abrupt cough. He dropped his legs and straightened, only to see a small blonde head popping up over the edge of the desk.

"Why are you so mean?"

Those words cut deeper than any utterance of a five year old had the right to. John leaned forward and opened his mouth – but no words came out. Mostly because he had no idea what to say.

"Go back to bed," was what eventually came out.

It was the response he usually gave to Alan, so why not?

Bad plan. Lyra's bright blue eyes darkened. She brought her fingers up to the edge of the desk and started _climbing_.

Before John could do anything, she had scrambled up onto the desktop, clad in a too-large t-shirt he recognised as something Alan used to wear – several growth spurts ago. The kid clambered across the desk to perch on the edge. Her legs dangled down, hovering over John's own thighs. Her toes didn't quite brush his skin.

"You're a meanie," Lyra said, crossing her arms. "I don't like you."

Sitting back, John mirrored her pose.

"Well, I don't like you either," he said.

It was part-joke and part-truth – and entirely because John had _no_ idea how to talk to kids.

The weight of her stare was intense. John tried not to blink. Then he played the _adult intelligence_ card – in the hopes of getting her to disappear through boredom.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "Neither you or your dads. Physics can't prove that you're really who you say you are."

Deadpan and cool as could be, the fire year old raised an eyebrow.

"Schrödinger might disagree."

It took a few moments for John to fully interpret what had been said. He brought a finger up to press against his ear, then looked at the kid again. Lyra's face was impassive.

"And what would _you_ know about Schrödinger?" he asked.

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her long blonde hair shifted in cascading waves.

"He was the guy who came up with the cat game," she said.

John raised an eyebrow.

"The cat _game_?" he asked.

"The game with the poison. Where the cat ends up alive and dead at the same time, but you can only see one or the other. Daddy explained it to me," she said. Then she chuckled. " _Dadaí_ got confused – though not as confused as Uncle Matty and Uncle Gordy get at science and stuff." She brought a hand up to tap her chin. "Though sometimes I think they play silly just to make me laugh."

"Uncle Gordy, as in Uncle Gordon?" John asked. The girl nodded. "Who's Matty?"

Lyra brought both hands down to her knees and unfurled her fingers on her knees.

" _Dadaí's_ twin," she said. "People say they look the same, but I can always tell the difference. Matty always looks like he's about to tell a joke but _Dadaí_ is serious-face all the time." She flicked her cool gaze towards him again and narrowed her eyes. "You're serious-face all the time, too," she said. "But you're mean. So I don't like you."

He couldn't help himself. There was something too charming about the scowl on her face, something too familiar about the downturn to the side of her red lips. He knew he shouldn't have, but he did.

John _laughed._

It wasn't even a charming little guffaw or an indulgent chuckle. It was a rolling bellow of a laugh that threatened to wake the entire villa up.

"What's so funny?" Lyra demanded.

John waved a hand in front of his face as tears of mirth escaped from his eyes. He snorted in a breath and shook his head, trying to bring the giggles under control.

"It's nothing, nothing," he gasped through whoops of breath and laughter.

But it wasn't nothing. However, quite how he would explain to a five year old that she looked _identical_ to himself at that age, sans the blonde hair. Not only that, she _sounded_ like him too.

The girl was about to say something in her defence, but her words and his laughter were cut off as a klaxon sounded from the desk display. Then an emergency icon appeared. Both Lyra and John's eyes turned to it.

" _John_ ," EOS's voice sounded through his ear communicator. " _There appears to be some kind of disturbance within a one mile vicinity of Jeff Tracy's crash site_."

Seriousness reigning strong now, John manipulated the holographic globe until the South Pacific came into view. On the desk, Lyra knelt and stared at the vision in front of her. She reached out to touch it but brought her hand back as if she was afraid she would be burned.

"You're right, EOS," John said. "There's _something_ going on there. But what it is, I have no idea. I'll wake Scott. He can be out there in less than a minute."

Reaching for his communicator, John called up Scott. Told him to hot-foot it down to the lounge. Then he looked at Lyra, at her fascination at the holographic sphere in front of her. She reached out again and touched it, manipulating the readouts with a subtle flick of her fingers.

"Wow," she breathed.

To that, John could not give any other reply than, "I know."

 **~oOo~**

By the time they reached the co-ordinates in the South Pacific, Garnett's shirt was drenched. Cold sweat poured over him in rivulets. His hands trembled as Mardochaios bade him unbuckle his safety restraints. The co-pilot appeared from the cockpit; she stared at them with impassive eyes.

"Well, we're here," Mardochaios said. "It's time for you to show me what you should have showed me months ago."

The British man's accent was so clipped that the words cut Garnett's ears. He steadied himself as he rose from the seat, then wiped his brow.

"Alright."

The quietness of his voice shamed him more than anything else. If only he was brave. If only he could fight back. Like Jeff Tracy would have done. _I am so glad you can't see me now, old friend,_ he thought. _So very glad_.

Marching him to the rear of the aircraft, Mardochaios crossed his arms across his chest. Garnett stopped and looked up at him, so abruptly that the co-pilot almost walked into his back. Once again, Mardochaios's eyes seemed to flicker.

"Well?" the Brit asked. "I'm waiting."

Jerking into action, Garnett turned and gestured for the co-pilot to take over. The woman reached for the small control device that had been mounted onto the bulkhead of the plane. It controlled the strange technology that Mardochaios had provided to help the illegal dumping of nuclear waste. They had known it was some kind of portal from the beginning. What they hadn't realised was that it also seemed to be a two-way door.

Pressing a few buttons, the co-pilot activated the controls. The panels lit up in a spectrum of blues and greens. She pulled a lever just to the side and with that, the rear cargo bay doors began to open.

Freezing air rushed in as the rear of the plane gaped open. The sweat on Garnett's skin felt like ice as the depths of the dark Pacific loomed below them. It would have been invisible in the darkness of the night, had whatever the co-pilot had done not sent a shaft of… _something_ shooting from the back of the cargo bay.

The beam was arced downwards and started to swirl in too-bright blue and white tendrils. Garnett shaded his eyes as the light increased in intensity, creating a false dawn in the darkness. Within sixty seconds, there was a deep pool of iridescent whiteness beneath them. It pulsed and blinked and swirled.

"And this is where you normally dump the waste?" Mardochaios called out over the din of the cargo plane's huge engines. "You push it through there?"

"Yes, sir," the co-pilot said, pressing one hand against her helmet. "It goes through and doesn't land in the water. It ends up somewhere else. We don't know where!"

"How interesting," the Brit said.

The edge to his voice made Garnett's blood run cold. And he realised the situation he was now in: side-by-side with a madman, only a few meters away from an icy plunge… Or worse.

"We must see where this goes," Mardochaios said, "otherwise this would be one rather wasted trip, don't you think?"

Frozen to the spot, Garnett said nothing. The cold air bit at his face. It gnawed through to his sweat-soaked skin.

When he smiled, Mardochaios's eyes glinted yellow.

"Paul, Paul, _Paul_ ," he said, taking a few steps closer to the cargo bay doors and grabbing a nearby rope handle to steady himself. "However are we going to do this? I'm certainly not going through, as there's no guarantee that I'll come back. So the way I see it, it's either you – or her."

The co-pilot stepped back and pressed one hand to her chest. Her face crumpled.

"Me? W-what? What do you mean? Why is anyone going through that thing?"

For a few seconds, Garnett didn't breathe. It was like time had stopped all around him. He took in the terror on the co-pilot's face and the snarl on Mardochaios's. He took in the bright whiteness of the swirling pool. And then he looked at himself, down at his wind-whipped skin, reddening by the second. He brought up his hands and flexed his fingers. Then he looked up again.

"I'll do it."

Mardochaios barked out a laugh and bent down. He hefted up a cable and harness and thrust them into Garnett's hands.

"You surprise me," he said. The metal clips were freezing in Garnett's hands. "I thought I would have to threaten to throw her out with no harness to get you to agree."

Clenching his teeth, Garnett shook his head.

"I might be a coward," he said, "but I'm not cruel. Not like you."

Laughing again, the bald Brit grinned. Behind him, the co-pilot backed further away.

"Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind," Mardochaios said. "And my ultimate plan is very kind indeed." He looked away. He seemed so _smug_. "At least, kind to _me_ , anyway."

As he slid into the harness, Garnett did a half-hearted check of the restraints. _I'm probably going to die anyway…_ He slid the heavy-duty carabiner attached to the cable to the front straps and tugged. Then he walked towards the edge of the cargo bay, legs trembling and his mouth dry.

"The other end of the cable is attached to the winch," Mardochaios said. "In theory, we should be able to pull you back up once you've seen what you can see through the… _whatever_ it is down there."

"In theory," Garnett whispered, though somehow Mardochaios still heard over the turmoil of sound in the air.

"All theories need to be tested," he said. "And this one is no exception.

Garnett had wanted to be prepared. He had wanted to set himself up for the fall, perhaps to relish for a few moments in the supposed bravery of sacrificing himself instead of the co-pilot. He had wanted to reclaim some of the past glory, when he leaped from planes in full combat gear and not in a too-expensive designer suit.

Mardochaios did not afford him any of those things. Instead, he thrust his hand forward and planted his palm square in Garnett's chest.

He stumbled back. He fell.

And down he went, towards the swirling light. Above him, the cargo plane was up-lit in white. Beyond it were the stars. But inside? The last thing Garnett saw was Mardochaios's pale face, those eyes glinting again.

Then he saw nothing but white.


	17. Chapter 17

_So similar and yet so different… I can't believe this._

Jeff watched the Scott and Virgil who were not his sons disappear off to their Thunderbirds, using secret entrances that were just a hair's breadth different from the ones in his own home. They were off on another rescue, this time a collapsed bridge in Bulgaria.

He met the eyes of the other Jeff and shook his head.

"I know I keep saying it, but… This is all _very_ strange."

The older Jeff chuckled.

"Indeed," he said. "So you're telling me your set up is much the same?"

"It is," Jeff replied.

He walked a little way across the room to the rocket painting that Virgil had disappeared through. The rocket looked… _antique_.

"That baby took me to the moon," the older man said, rising from his desk. "Our mission was the first to land. These feet were some of the first that stepped on lunar soil."

Turning on his heel, the younger Jeff's eyes widened.

" _You_ were the first to land on the moon?" he asked. "What about Apollo 11? What about _Neil Armstrong_?"

The older man shook his head, resting on hand on his hip.

"Never heard of him," he said.

"Good god…"

The younger Jeff folded his arms and turned back to drink in the details of the rocket. So many things were different, not just now, but in history. Neil Armstrong wasn't the first man to set foot on the moon among other significant differences, and of course – most crucially of all – the Global Conflict of 2040 had never happened. _And that explains all this reliance on nuclear energy,_ Jeff thought. _They haven't had to live with the fallout – literally in some places – of significant nuclear disaster._

Something glinted in the distance and caught his eye. He looked out across the ocean to see Thunderbirds One and Two – _their_ One and Two – streaking out across the sky. _Those craft seem so strange to me_ , he thought. They were not the vehicles he had helped bring from first pencil stroke to final polish on the assembly line. In theory, they were the same. In reality, they were very different.

The older Jeff followed his eye line, then smiled again.

"It's hard to watch them go," he said. "From the moment I told them all of my plans, none of them wanted to back out. They're all one hundred percent committed to the outfit. And yet I still find it hard to watch them leave. Hundreds, thousands of missions… And yet it's still difficult."

Nodding, the younger Jeff turned from the window.

"It's that fear that you'll never see them again," he said. "It's the fear that you might have sent them to their deaths." He gave a hollow laugh. "I know that feeling all too well. And the worst part of it is that my boys probably think I'm dead."

"You've only been gone for a matter of weeks," the older man said. "If they're anything like my boys, they won't have given up quite so soon." He chuckled. "In fact, they would never give up at all."

Before he could respond, Jeff was cut off by the communication signal. The steady _beep beep_ was another alien sensation. He was used to his space monitor simply popping into existence in a flash of blue light. Here, though, with the lack of holo technology, thing were very different.

What was even more different was that the eyes of the boys' portraits were not lighting up. It wasn't even Penelope's portrait. It was Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers.' He watched as the older Jeff jogged back to his desk and accepted the call.

"Go ahead, Matthew."

The word sounded strange to Jeff's ears. In his world, on his island, in his International Rescue, it was just his sons and Kayo. There were no other crew. Yet the 'Sunflowers' disappeared, only to be replaced by the face of someone Jeff didn't recognise. Not one bit.

" _Bad news, sir_ ," Matthew said, the words rolling off his tongue in his thick Irish brogue. " _We have another emergency call – and it's not just an ordinary one. It's come from W.A.S.P. – and yes, it's about_ exactly _what you think it is_. _There's a disturbance right at the same co-ordinates where all the weird stuff has been happening._ " His green eyes flicked to the younger Jeff. " _No offense, obviously_."

"Right, Matthew," Jeff said. "I'll get Gordon to deploy in Thunderbird Four. He can go and check it out. Did W.A.S.P. give us any further details about what's happening?"

" _Our friend Sheridan is on the line_ ," Matthew said. " _He's keeping me updated. From what they can see, there's a strange swirling…_ thing _in the sky –it's something they've never managed to document before but they do think this is where the nuclear waste might be coming from._ How _it's happening is an entirely different question_."

"Keep monitoring the situation," Jeff said. "Gather as much intel as you can. I'll get Brains to tap in on your data."

" _Yessir_ ," Matthew said.

"Base out."

By the time the comm. cut off, Jeff's hands were clenched into fists. His nails dug deep into his palms as the other man called Gordon up to the lounge and relayed his instructions to Brains. _A strange, swirling_ thing _,_ he thought. _I wonder, could that be how I got here? Could it be some kind of…doorway?_

Within a minute, Gordon appeared in the lounge, flushed from bounding up from the lower layer of the villa.

"What's the situation, Father?" he asked.

The word _father_ fell strangely on Jeff's ears. _None of the boys ever called me 'father'_ , he thought. _I was always just 'dad'._ He listened as the redhead was brought up to speed.

"I'll launch straight away," Gordon said. "Maybe if I get out there fast enough, the whatever-it-is might still be open. Or there. Or _whatever_."

"Hopefully, son," Jeff said. "Now, away you go. Keep in touch."

"F.A.B., Dad."

Watching as the redhead skipped off, the younger Jeff almost went to follow him. But he stopped. Because this wasn't his operation. _I just hope you find something_ , he thought. _And I hope it brings us one step closer to getting me home…_

 **~oOo~**

It was like being ripped apart at the seams and stitched back up all at the same time. Garnett was blinded and deafened, battered from all sides by cold winds, jolted by lightning and… Then nothing.

Silence. Absolute and exquisite.

 _Maybe I'm dead. Maybe this is the end... I… I hope it is…_

But fate was not on Paul Garnett's side, or at least, it seemed that way to him. For after an eternity that felt like seconds – or vice versa, he wasn't sure – the dissonance of sound and sensation cracked into life again.

And he was falling, falling, falling…

 **~oOo~**

Gordon made it out to the co-ordinates in record time. As he approached the periphery, the _Barracuda_ was there to meet him.

"Long time no see, _Barracuda_ ," he quipped.

" _Yes indeed, International Rescue_ ," Sheridan replied. " _Ah must have a conversation with you later about…certain matters_. _But for now, Ah think it would be prudent for you to get that little yellow sub on our tail._ "

"F.A.B.," Gordon responded, suppressing the sting of irritation he felt at 'little yellow sub.'

He fell into course behind the _Stingray_ class vessel and could not help but feel a blanket of smugness envelop him as he passed through the previously off-limits W.A.S.P. territory. _Take that_ , he thought. But the levity disappeared within seconds as the situation weighed down on him again. _No time for smugness,_ he thought. _Only time for serious business… And hopefully, finding out some way to get John and the others home again…_

" _International Rescue, we're heading up_ ," Sheridan said. " _Ah suggest you follow and break the surface at a distance of ten meters from us. There's something up there_."

"The…thing, yeah."

" _Not just the 'thing,' International Rescue_ ," Sheridan said, a bite of confusion coming into his tone. " _There's something coming_ through _the 'thing.'_ "

 _Through it?_ Gordon thought as he adjusted his controls, starting to rise to the ocean surface. _What the heck?_ He reached for the comm.

"Are you getting all this, Thunderbird Five?" he asked.

Matthew's broad voice sounded loud and clear in Four's cockpit.

" _I am indeed_ ," he said. " _As clear as crystal_. _I don't know what the heck is coming through, but it ain't normal, that's for certain._ "

Gordon allowed himself a brief chuckle.

"We don't do normal around here. You know that," he said. Then a thought occurred to him. "Speaking of not _doing_ normal, are you coming home soon? Surely your rotation is nearly over?"

This time, Matthew chuckled.

" _Aye_ ," he said. " _I'm scheduled to come home tomorrow. Whether that happens or not is anyone's guess, though. Sure, you know what Alan's like_."

Nearing the surface, Gordon adjusted his speed so he didn't break through too fast.

"Oh, believe me," he said. "He won't get away with any lame-ass excuses this time. You _need_ to come home."

He could hear Matthew's temptation vibrating on the line. There was a terrible joke in there that was best not said over the comm. lines. But they both knew it and, thousands of miles apart, they grinned in unison.

"Surfacing now," Gordon said, his mind snapping back to the rescue.

Thunderbird Four broke through the dark depths of the Pacific, Gordon stood and glanced up through the cockpit.

His jaw had never fallen open so wide.

"What the _hell_?"

" _What is it, Gords?_ " Matthew asked.

"Matty… There's a _guy_ hanging from a rope, _through_ the…whatever that is!"

" _What? You've got to be_ jokin'," Matthew spat. " _That makes no sense!_ "

"And yet it's happening," Gordon said. Then he opened a new comm. line. "Brains, are you getting all of this?"

After a moment, the scientist's voice echoed in Four's cockpit.

" _Y-yes, Gordon_ ," he replied. " _The readings from Thunderbird Four's scanning equipment are m-most perplexing. And unfortunately, not as th-thorough as I would like._ "

"I'll see if I can snag some of W.A.S.P.'s data, too," Gordon said. "I don't think Sheridan will say no. But in the meantime, we need to figure out how to help that guy!"

Shading his eyes against the glare of the portal, Gordon wracked his brain for a plan. _I wish we had Two here_ , he thought. _Or even one. Even a jet pack would do! There's not a whole lot I can do for him from down here…_

But even as he started to slot a plan together in his head, the man on the end of the rope jerked as though he was being winched upwards. Then, within a few seconds, he had been wrenched back upwards – seemingly through the swirl of light.

"He's gone!" Gordon cried. "He's gone back through that thing!"

" _So he has!_ " Sheridan said. " _Ah think this confirms that our toxic waste is coming through the portal_."

"But where does it go?" Gordon asked. "And… If stuff can get through to this side, can we get through to _that_ side?"

 _John and Eli and Lyra…_ he thought. _That means… Well, it might just mean that if they've gone through this portal, or whatever you want to call it, that they can come back through. Same with this 'other' Dad!_

Then, with one last blinding flash of light, the swirl was gone. Above it lay only blue sky and a scattering of thin clouds. Gordon's throat tightened.

 _But now it's closed… And we have no idea how to open it._

" _It's gone again_ ," Sheridan said. " _Just plum gone._ "

Forcing his teeth to un-grit, Gordon sat back down at Four's controls.

"So it seems," he said. "Sheridan, if we're going to make any sense of this and help our… _mutual_ _friend_ out, we're going to need access to all the data W.A.S.P. has on this phenomenon."

" _Ah'm sure I can fix you up with something_ ," Sheridan said. " _Whatever you need, International Rescu. Ah'll do my best._ "

"I know you will," Gordon said. "I know you will. I just hope we can figure out what's really going on here, and soon…"

 **~oOo~**

When he crossed the threshold, everything went white. He burst into another world full of colour and the brightness of the noonday sun. And then he was whipped back again, back through the whiteness and out into the darkness of the night of his own world.

After all of that, Garnett was barely clinging on to life.

His prone body was winched back up into the cargo hold of the plane. He could barely feel the touch of the co-pilot's fingers on his skin as she manoeuvred him into what he assumed was the recovery position. _It's no use,_ he thought. _There's no recovering from this…_

As if the nightmare could not get any worse, once he was covered in a blanket, Mardochaios was kneeling at his side.

"Well?" the man asked. "What did you see?"

Garnett's voice had deserted him. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was a harsh squeak. Every inch of his body hurt. Every muscle, every bone, every _fibre_ of his being sizzled with pain. And even through this, he knew that if he did not speak, Mardochaios would make his suffering even worse. So he forced his vocal cords into submission.

"The sea…" He croaked. "Daytime. Like… Noon. Submarines… Two. One…silver and blue. One…yellow. Small."

"Oh?" Mardochaios asked. "Did you see any distinctive markings? Was there any land nearby? Do tell – before you expire."

Heaving in a shuddering breath, Garnett shook his head as best he could, though the movement was little more than a jerk.

"No… No land. Markings… A number. A black number…"

"What number?" Mardochaios asked. His voice had a new tightness.

"F…four," Garnett ground out. "I think…four…"

Mardochaios drew back and stood, his face far out of Garnett's line of sight. All he could see was his shining shoes.

"How interesting," the Brit said. "How _very_ interesting." He took a step backwards. He didn't turn. "Well, Mr Garnett," he said. "You have been _most_ useful to me. But now I must tell you that I no longer require your services. You are dismissed, though I'll accept this plane as a parting gift, and my technology of course."

There was no more strength left within Garnett's body. There was nothing he could do.

He heard the co-pilot's shrieks as Mardochaios brought his polished shoes down onto Garnett's back. He felt the jerk and twist as the toes were forced underneath, and then he was rolling down towards the open cargo bay doors.

And then he was off the edge. And he knew he was gone, because he had researched the height from which a human could survive a fall to water – or indeed, the height from which they would die. Seventy-six meters, and he was far above that.

Down, down he went.

And his last thought before he hit the water?

It was of his son.

 _Christopher…_


	18. Chapter 18

" _All I can see is a cargo plane_ ," Scott's voice came over the comm. " _There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary_."

John bit the side of his bottom lip and manipulated the globe, zooming in as much as he could. He did his best to ignore the little blonde that followed his every move.

"There were definite signs of some sort of…unexplained phenomenon in that area, Scott," John replied. "It might be worth asking the pilot if he or she saw anything."

" _Will do_ ," Scott said.

John had every intention of listening in on the call but his attention was distracted by a small hand grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt sleeve.

"That's cool," Lyra said.

The way her eyes shone wide in the holographic light made him stop his snappy retort before he even made a noise. Instead, he reached over to manipulate the globe, sending it spinning on its axis. Lyra giggled and reached out, her small fingers stopping the whirling sphere in its tracks.

"I wish we had one of those things," she said.

John didn't respond, instead bringing the rotation back to where Scott and the cargo plane were displayed. He tapped on the Thunderbird One icon to bring up the transmission.

" _…we thought we were going down for a minute_ ," the pilot was saying. " _I damn near lost control of the plane with whatever was happening. But I got it back – and that light vanished_."

" _Alright, thanks,_ " Scott said.

John clicked into the conversation, muting his transmission to the cargo plane.

"What did they say?" he asked.

" _Something about a bright light and being unable to control the plane_ ," Scott replied. " _It sounds a lot like what Joh- I mean, our guests, mentioned when they first arrived. I'll bet you three months' dish duty that however they got here has something to do with this…light anomaly._ "

"I don't do dish duty," John said, the joke flying over his head, "but I think you're right."

" _I'm heading back to the island now_ ," Scott said.

"F.A.B."

The call cut off and with that, John deactivated the holographic globe. He looked at the girl on the desk, her face forlorn now that the hologram was gone.

Then she yawned so widely that John found himself beginning to succumb. Clamping his mouth shut, he tried to suppress the yawn. He failed.

"You should go back to bed," he said.

Lyra turned so that her legs dangled off the side of the desk and nodded, bringing one hand up to rub gently at one eye.

"Yeah."

The sound was so small that John's throat tightened. When he stood, she reached up for him. Sighing, he bent down and lifted her into his arms.

"I'm not your dad, you know," he said, heading towards the stairs.

His footfalls were silent on the hard floor.

"I know," Lyra said, winding one hard into the neck of his t-shirt. "My Daddy is nice. You're mean."

Chuckling, John started to mount the stairwell that would take them to the upper levels of the villa, where the bedrooms were.

"I am," he said. "And I like it that way."

But there was no response, for Lyra had fallen asleep.

As he reached the upper levels, it occurred to John that he had no idea which room the girl needed to be returned to. He considered depositing her on the floor, perhaps with a 'Please return to appropriate parent' sign taped to her back, but he was saved from the bother – by himself.

The other John appeared from one of the guest rooms. His blue eyes shone like dark sapphires in the meagre light.

"Thank god," he breathed. "I woke up and she was gone."

John walked forward and handed the kid over – more gently than he had anticipated. She whimpered a little as she was transferred from one warm chest to another.

"She made her way down to the lounge," he said. "She said I was mean. Then we learned how to use the holographic globe."

The other John cocked his head to the side, then grinned.

"She'll want one for Christmas, next," he said softly. "Thanks for bringing her back."

John shrugged and palmed the back of his neck.

"It's no problem," he said. "Anyway, I need to get back downstairs."

"Downstairs?" the other John asked. "It's three-thirty a.m. Don't you sleep?"

"Sometimes," John replied.

After an awkward pause, the blond John took a step back.

"Well, thanks again. And goodnight."

"Goodnight."

John turned and didn't watch his doppelganger go. Instead, he concentrated only on the feeling of the carpeted stairs beneath his bare feet. He didn't think about the soft warmth of the little girl at all.

Or at least, so he told himself.

 **~oOo~**

As he settled Lyra down, she squirmed and opened her eyes for a moment. John reached down to smooth the hair from her face and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"Sweet dreams, my little star," he whispered.

She drifted back to sleep with a soft smile on her face. When John turned to pad back to the bed, Elijah was sitting up.

"You're awake," John said.

"I heard you get up," Elijah replied. He had his broken arm curled into his chest. "Then I saw Lyra's empty bed and put two and two together."

Perching on the edge of the mattress, John pulled one leg up under himself.

"Seems she went wandering," he said. "The other… Their John brought her back upstairs. It would seem she's been telling a few home truths as well as learning new skills."

He chuckled. Elijah tilted his head to one side.

"Huh?"

"Apparently she said he was 'mean' and then he showed her how to use their holographic tech."

Elijah's mouth widened with a smirk.

"Well, her opinion can't have come as much of a surprise," he said. "She did kick him in the shin the first time they met."

John chuckled louder, then clamped his hand over his mouth to stop the noise. The two men glanced over at the single bed; thankfully, Lyra was still sleeping.

Pulling his hand from his mouth, John smiled.

"She's not one for holding back," he said. "Personally, I blame Scott and my father."

"And Gordon and Matthew," Elijah added.

"Very true," John said.

Speaking the names of those they had been separated from brought a pang to John's chest. He breathed in deeply, feeling his ribs protest. _Ow… Still not quite healed_.

He pulled his other leg up and slid across the bed. Mindful of Elijah's injured arm, he leant in and pressed his forehead to his fiancé's.

"We need to get home," he said.

Elijah swallowed so hard that John could hear it.

"Yeah," he said. "We do." There was a pause and then the deep rumble of a chuckle. "Don't think this gets you out of buying me an expensive ring," he said.

John brought his lips up to press a cheek to Elijah's forehead.

"Don't worry," he said. "When we get home, you can have whatever you want. Heck, I'd even mine you some asteroid rock by hand and set it in a ring myself if it would make you happy."

"Oh, I don't think you'll need to go as far as space to meet my needs," Elijah said. "Maybe Tiffany's. Or Cartier. I'm not fussy."

Shaking his head, John sat back on his haunches, swaying a little on the plush mattress.

"No, you aren't," he said. "But you do have impeccable taste."

"I chose you, didn't I?" came the immediate reply.

"Smooth," John said. "Very smooth. Now, if you don't mind, move over. You're hogging all the blankets and it's nearly four o'clock in the blessed a.m!"

 **~oOo~**

The post-mission debrief should have been a swift one, considering that Gordon had done nothing. But instead, it felt as though it would be one that would drag out into hours. _Boring_ , Gordon thought. _I don't see why we all have to be here_.

But there they all were, gathered in the lounge – even Tin-Tin, who was now five months pregnant but looked much more. Grandma had explained something about second pregnancies but Gordon hadn't cared enough to listen _that_ well.

Tin-Tin was sitting on one of the couches, Alan hovering protectively at her side. Adam was sprawled on the floor, playing a brightly coloured game on a tablet computer and giggling.

Scott and Virgil were on one of the other couches, while Gordon himself lingered on the periphery, leaning against a wall. He watched as the two Jeffs, old and young, continued to discuss the situation. _But it won't be a discussion for long_ , Gordon thought. _It's gonna be a fight sooner rather than later…_

That was true. Their conversation became more heated with each utterance. _I guess it's true what they say about meeting yourself. You're either gonna fight or you're gonna…_ Gordon suppressed a shudder. _Gross. Best not to think about_ that _possibility_.

"…I just don't see the point in wasting resources on something that we don't know for certain is linked to the issue."

Gordon nodded at his father's words. _Right_. His attention snapped back to the younger Jeff as he started his retort.

"How can you say it's not certainly linked?" he asked. "There was someone dangling through the portal. It has to be linked. It has to be how I got here."

 _A fair point_. Gordon's head turned back to his father as the discussion went on.

"It's highly probable but we just don't know," Jeff said. "And I'm not prepared to let this outfit go down by another crew member just because you want to sit out at the co-ordinates and wait for something that might not occur for weeks, months, _ever again_ for all we know."

"Then let me go on my own," the younger Jeff ground out. "You don't need to send anyone with me. I'll sit it out alone."

"I'm not prepared to do that either," Jeff responded.

At the red-faced frustration on the face of the younger Jeff, Gordon pursed his lips. _I wonder if he's starting to feel like_ his _kids feel_ , he thought. _That is, if he's as…dictatorial as our dad can be_.

"Well, what are you prepared to do?" The younger Jeff threw up his hands. "From my perspective, you're not doing anything to get me home, or to get your son home. You're sitting on your hands and reacting, not _acting_."

 _Oh, burn_ , Gordon thought. He caught Virgil's gaze. His older brother made a face that said, _Oh, boy._ Gordon nodded and pulled his face into a reply that he hoped said, _I concur_.

"I'm acting the way I see fit," Jeff said, his words growing gruffer with each syllable. "I have a duty of care to my son, but I also have a duty of care to the rest of this world as the head of International Rescue. Now, I need to know that I have enough crew on-hand to handle any emergency at any given time. And with Elijah and John gone, and Tin-Tin in no position to go on any rescue missions – and Matthew manning the space station – I'm down to a four-hand crew, perhaps five if we can use Brains. I cannot lose another operative to sit on a boat with you and wait until a portal appears. And what happens if it does?" Jeff snapped. "How are you going to make your way through it? Because I don't think there's a ladder long enough in existence that would get you up there, never mind a ladder you can mount on a boat. Have some sense, man," he said, his face pulled into a deep frown. "We need more data and more time."

Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment as the Jeffs faced off. Gordon pushed himself from the wall and took a step forward.

"Dad's right," he said. "But the other Jeff has a point, too."

The fierce glare from his father did nothing to still his tongue. Gordon had received that glare far too many times in his life for it to be effective any longer.

"We don't need to send out a boat," he continued. "We just need to liaise with Sheridan – on the Q.T., of course. We know we can trust him – he's already promised to send us all of W.A.S.P.'s data on the anomaly. He can be our eyes out there, while we maintain our crew levels here."

His father opened his mouth, then closed it. Then his lips twitched into a grin as he chuckled.

"You know," he said. "I sometimes forget how sensible you can be, son."

"Well," Gordon said airily, waving one hand. "I do hide it rather well."

"Gordon is right, though, Dad," Scott said. "If Sheridan is willing to help, I think we should take him up on his offer."

The older Jeff's face sobered a little. He nodded.

"Right," he said. "Well, that's settled it. Gordon, you can contact Sheridan, since you're the one best acquainted with him. We'll keep Thunderbird Four on stand-by just in case we need to make a quick departure if the portal erupts again." He turned and gave the other Jeff a small smile. "We will get you home. I promise."

The younger Jeff nodded but there was something in the movement that made Gordon still. It was…curt. Too abrupt. _I don't trust that body language,_ he thought. _It reminds me of, well,_ me _when I'm about to do something Dad might call…irrational_.

Making a mental note to keep an eye on the other Jeff, Gordon strode forward to his father's desk to make the call. Before he could do so, his ears pricked up as they caught a snippet of conversation.

"…maybe we should delay the switchover of duty for a few days, just in case," Alan was saying.

"No!" Gordon called out, not turning around. "You will go and collect Matthew and send him back to me on the day you are supposed to, not any later."

He could hear Alan's frown in his voice.

"It was only a suggestion…"


	19. Chapter 19

He had to admit it. Their operation was _slick_. John watched as the Scott who was not his brother slipped through the secret entrance to One's hangar. He listened to the thump of boots that didn't belong to his Virgil, and yet sounded like they did. _Off they go on another mission_ , he thought. _These guys never seem to catch a break._ Back home, it wasn't unusual to go weeks without a mission. In this universe, it seemed as though International Rescue was the go-to service for just about everything.

One not-brother was, unfortunately, not needed on the rescue. Left behind – Gordon already heading to Two's passenger lift – Alan pouted in a way that was more endearing than John's own Alan ever did. Watching his brothers leave was a feeling John knew all too well.

"You'll get your mission," he said. "But I know how you feel. It's hard to be left behind."

Alan turned and blinked, cocking his head to one side.

"Whaddaya mean?" he asked. "I bet you're always out in space, rocketing around and being a hero."

" _Alan_."

This time, the warning growl came not from this John, but _that_ John. The redhead, sitting at their father's desk and manning comms., shook his head.

The blond John, on the other hand, waved a hand and smiled.

"Believe it or not, Alan," he said. " _My_ Alan is the one who gets to do all the space missions. When I'm not on the satellite I'm usually left on the island. I wouldn't need more than my fingers and toes to count all the missions I've been on."

"Is it 'cuz of your eyes?" Alan asked.

The younger blond turned in his seat, giving John full and round-eyed attention. The gesture plucked at something within John. _It's weird,_ he thought. My _Alan barely gives me a second thought._ This _Alan seems to…I dunno,_ like _me…_

Shaking his head, John brought a hand up to fiddle with his glasses.

"Now it is," he said. "Before that, I wasn't fit for duty for about a year or so. And before that?" He chuckled. "I think I was just surplus to requirements. How can you live up to two hot-shot older brothers, and Olympic gold-medallist and a world-class race car driver?" This time, his chuckle was more self-depreciating. "I'm just a scientist who writes books about space."

"Oh, man," Alan said, sinking so his chin rested on his arm. "I know how that feels – not the sciencey book writing bit, but the living up to brothers thing." He jerked his head at the redhead John, who was still monitoring the holographic globe. "All of my brothers are hot shots in one way or another. And what am I?"

Without missing a beat, the other John chimed in.

"The most naturally gifted pilot I've ever seen," he said. "Now stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Alan rolled his eyes. Both Johns smirked, but for different reasons.

"Well," blond John said, sitting back in his seat in the sunken living area, "you seem to be doing just fine. And you're still very young. When I was – what age are you? Sixteen, seventeen?" Alan nodded. "At that age, I was still trying to navigate high school. I didn't fly my first spacecraft until I was twenty-two."

Sitting up, Alan's attention was completely on John again.

"Was that the _Caduceus_?" He asked. "Did you go to Mercury? You mentioned that before. What was it like? Was it awesome?"

The teen's enthusiasm for all things space made John grin. _It's so dumb but he's making me feel, I dunno,_ cool _or something._

"You could say it was awesome when we got there, at least," he said. "It took months to fly out – but it did give me plenty of time to work on my first book. There's nothing like the barren nothingness of a long space journey to pick up your productivity." He shook his head. "There are only so many conversations a six-man crew can have."

"What did you do when you got there?" Alan asked.

"We were doing some research into topography and seismology, as well as mapping for ore deposits. It paved the way for the Mercury mining program that's in operation out there now."

"Awesome," Alan said. "Totally awesome."

"It was," John said. "It really was."

The tranquillity of their mutual geekiness was broken by a shout.

"Alan Tracy! I hope you've started those lessons already."

The teen's face blanched at his grandmother's voice. It boomed up from the kitchen like a roll of thunder.

"Oh, crap," he whispered. "I haven't."

"I'm on my way up!" the older woman called. "And by the time I get to the top of these stairs, I fully expect to see you working on your homework!"

"Uh, sure thing, Grandma!" Alan called, scrambling to his feet. "I'm right on that – I mean, I've been right on that for a while!" He bent down for a stage whisper. "I gotta go or else I'll be dead!"

"Right," John replied around a laugh.

He watched as the blond leapt away, his thin limbs kicking out in all directions.

There was a grunt behind him, followed by the slide of wheels on the floor. John turned to see his redhead counterpart standing, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I think I've just reached my limit," he said. "I'm going to the office."

Without so much as a glance or a further word, he deactivated the holographic system and strode off, leaving John alone.

The solitude didn't last long. Grandma Tracy appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes narrow behind her purple-framed glasses.

"Hello, dear," she said upon spying John. She walked towards him. "All alone up here?"

"I wasn't until a minute ago," John said. "Alan disappeared when you yelled and J- _John_ ," he said, stumbling on the name that was no longer just _his_ name, "said he was going to 'the office' – wherever that is."

Grandma Tracy grunted and folded her arms.

"That office is no office," she said. "He means Thunderbird Five. That boy spends far too much time alone up there in space. And there's no need!" She gestured at the communications desk. "We can run things perfectly well from here. He doesn't _need_ to stay away. And yet he does." She looked up, pinning John with a stare and a raised eyebrow. "Maybe you can explain it to me," she said.

John shrugged and slipped his hands through the loops of the jeans he had been given.

"I can't," he said. "I love space and I love being a part of things on Five, but… I don't _like_ being alone. If I had the choice, I don't think I'd isolate myself."

Grunting, Grandma Tracy shook her head.

"I wouldn't, either," she said. "Well, there's one way you two are different. It's not just the hair colour after all! Now, where did Alan go? I need to check and see if he's done anything today. He's forever falling behind in his studies."

John pointed in the direction Alan had loped off and gave his not-grandmother a sympathetic smile.

"I don't think you have much to worry about with him," he said. "He seems like a great kid – intelligent and with a good attitude. He's just itching to get out and be like his brothers."

"I know," Grandma said. "He's a good boy. I just don't want him to get too big for his boots!"

She gave John a wave as she disappeared in Alan's wake. John shook his head, feeling his lips lift in a smile. _They're a great family_ , he thought. His smile faltered. _Seeing them just makes me want to get back to mine even more…_

 **~oOo~**

He'd called himself Mardochaios, mostly for dramatic effect. Translated from Greek, meaning death and emptiness. From Merodach in the Christian Bible, a Babylonian idol of bloodshed and slaughter.

 _Not that anyone will know that,_ he thought. _But I will. And I know what I stand for_. _I know what I want._

What did he want? The answer was simple: everything. That was a long-term plan, of course. In the short term, he would settle for the Thunderbirds. _That would be a marvellous start…_

For years, he had tracked them, pursued them, tried every trick in the book to lay his hands on their technology. _I even fooled them into believing I was responsible for their father's disappearance_ , he thought. _Though now, it would seem, I may well have been responsible after all._

It was true. He hadn't caused Jeff Tracy's disappearance on purpose, though he had been glad to accept them blame for it. _His sons are hot-headed and irrational. I had hoped their hatred for me would bring about the one mistake I need them to make. One little slip and I can get my hands on everything I want from them._

But no. He hadn't caused Jeff's disappearance _directly._ Rather, it seemed it had all come about in a strange and serendipitous way.

 _Who could have guessed it?_ he thought. _My dabbling with strange technologies bringing into focus the very path I need._

Even though he was one, it didn't take a genius to put all the pieces together. _Jeff Tracy disappears at the same time, in the same spot, as Garnett uses my technology to dump nuclear waste. And now, Garnett reports back to me that he sees a submarine on the other side, yellow with black markings – a_ four _of all things_. He grunted a thick laugh. _I cannot ignore that coincidence. I have no idea what I might find, but I know this for certain: Jeff Tracy is on the other side of that portal. And if I can bring him back and hold him for ransom, I will get everything I ever wanted._

Thus, his plans had been put in motion. And now the cargo plane he had commandeered from Garnett hovered in the air at the magic co-ordinates. The original crew long-dumped, his black-helmeted cronies poked and prodded at the technology.

Soon enough, he heard the words he had craved.

"We're ready, sir."

He'd called himself Mardochaios, mostly for dramatic effect. Translated from Greek, meaning death and emptiness. From Merodach in the Christian Bible, a Babylonian idol of bloodshed and slaughter.

His lips curled in a sour grin.

"Take us in."

In front of him, light swirled and danced. But inside him, there was only darkness.

 **~oOo~**

In the white solitude of the space elevator, John could breathe again. He concentrated on filling lungs with the recycled air he was so used to. His body was snug in its suit again, holding him together, binding him up. He closed his eyes and exhaled. _Scott's not going to be happy with me_ , he thought. _But I couldn't take any more. Three days is quite enough under normal circumstances, never mind abnormal ones. And if anything is abnormal, it's this mess_.

"John."

EOS's girlish voice made his eyes open. She was hovering above him, her LEDS in a yellow half-circle.

"Yes, EOS?" he asked.

"I'm detecting anomalous readings in the vicinity of your father's crash zone," she said.

His heart growing cold, John reached up and clicked on the holographic projector on his sash. _Anomalous readings_ , he thought. _That can't be good…_

"Send the data to me, please, EOS," he said. "Let's see what we've got."

Within a second, the blankness of the space elevator was filled with a translucent blue hologram. It was the sea, over which a strange swirling mass seemed to grow.

"What the…" He stopped short of swearing. "EOS, would you cross-reference this data with the anomaly you detected a few nights ago? Are we looking at the same thing, here?"

After a minuscule pause, she answered.

"There is a ninety-nine point seven percent probability that this is the same anomaly," she said.

The intelligence that belied the youth of her voice caught John off-guard for a moment. Lyra's face flashed across his vision. He forced the sight away.

"Are there any aircraft in the area?" John asked. "Last time, we had a report of a plane being dragged towards the anomaly."

Another tiny pause.

"There is one aircraft in the vicinity," she said. "It would seem –"

EOS cut her words short. John frowned.

"EOS?"

"John… The aircraft is travelling _through_ the anomaly."

" _Through_ it?" John asked. "Are you sure."

"One hundred percent," EOS replied, an edge of petulance in her voice.

His first instinct was to explain he hadn't meant offence, but there were bigger problems to be dealt with. He watched as a little avatar began to disappear into the swirling mass. Fingers flying, he opened a communications channel.

"Cargo plane from International Rescue," he said. "Do you require assistance?"

He received only static as a reply.

"Cargo plane, do you read me?"

More static.

Then the avatar was gone.

"EOS?"

"I can no longer track the aircraft," she replied, her digital voice warping with confusion. "I cannot explain this phenomenon."

"Neither can I, EOS," he said. "Neither can I." He opened a new comm. channel, this time through to Scott. "Thunderbird One, we have a…situation. Sort of."


	20. Chapter 20

An uneventful shift. Nothing to report. Sheridan sat back and laced his fingers behind his head, knocking his hat askew.

"Quiet night, eh, Coral?"

The lieutenant smiled, one side of her mouth curling up.

"Makes a change," she said. "What with all of this… _excitement_ we've been dealing with, recently."

Sheridan chuckled at her dry humour and gave a slow nod.

"Ah almost wish those International Rescue boys would come back," he said. "At least then, things were exciting."

Coral licked her lips. Then skin shone. She wasn't smiling anymore.

"Any news on Jeff Tracy's disappearance?" she asked.

Shaking his head, Sheridan crossed his ankles.

"Not a thing," he said. "Ah think they're tryin' to hush it all up. It doesn't look too good, losin' a prisoner from right inside the base." It was his turn for a sarcastic smile. "However that happened, Ah do not know."

Before Coral could parry with a retort, the radio burst to life.

" _Unidentified aircraft emerging_!"

The voice on the comm. line was tight. Sheridan shot forward in his chair, knocking the hat from his head. He turned his attention to the monitors. Data fed in from all sources – the hydrophone, the digital periscopes, camera feeds from surface vessels. And none of it looked good. To his side, Sheridan could feel Coral's tension.

"Sir?" she asked.

"Well, roll me in mud and ride me like a blue ribbon hog," he replied. "What the _hell_ is that?"

Coral's fingers flew over the controls as data flooding in. Sheridan blinked, then shook his head. _It's a ship_ , he thought. _And it's one of the strangest ships Ah've ever seen in my life!_

"Whatever it is," she said, "it's coming down fast."

Snapping into full command mode, Sheridan barked orders to the vessels in the vicinity. Then he returned to the data readouts.

"What in the Sam Hill… I've never seen anything like that before!"

The vessel that hurtled towards the sea was a strange one, with blocky wings in a rectangular configuration and a squat body.

"I don't know anything about aerodynamics, but that doesn't look flyable. And –"

Sheridan's further thoughts were cut off by a sudden upswing in the vessel's course.

"The pilot's back in control," Coral said as the plane righted itself. "They've got attitude control back again. I'll try and hail them –"

There was no chance, however. As soon as the plane found its wings again, it was gone.

"What the hell?" Sheridan asked. "Where does he think he's going? Does he even know where he is?"

There was no response to any hails. The plane was long gone.

Official communications carried out and mental notes to write reports filed, Sheridan reached for the comm., dialling up the secure channel he had been given.

"International Rescue from the _Barracuda_ ," he said.

" _Barracuda, this is International Rescue,_ " a young voice came back after barely a pause. " _Receiving you strength five. Go ahead_."

"Good buddy," Sheridan said, leaning down to retrieve his discarded hat, "I think we got ourselves a development in our… _secret_ business."

" _I'm all ears_ ," the voice said. " _What's happened?_ "

Brushing the dust from the cap, Sheridan placed it back on his head.

"Like all things associated with this here situation," he said, "it's gonna take a lot of explainin'."

 **~oOo~**

It was still strange to see the portraits click to a video feed, rather than feeding out a holographic projection. _I'm never going to get used to any of this_ , Jeff thought. _And I never want to. I need to get home to my boys_.

Now, he and his not-sons were all in their lounge again, deferring to the Jeff that wasn't him. The older man sat behind his desk, needing only an orb and sceptre to polish his kingship. He had his sons' complete attention. _They look at him with such respect_ , Jeff thought. _And yet, do they think for themselves? Or do they just do what 'Daddy' tells them to?_

Something about it made Jeff shift in his seat, trying to relieve a discomfort that wouldn't lift. _Are my boys like that_? he thought. _Do they need me to tell them what to do? Or can they survive on their own?_ The knot in his gut tightened. _I hope so. But at the same time, I need to get back to them…_

" _Sheridan is feeding data to me now, Father_ ," Alan was saying. " _One of their surface vessels got a good telematic photograph of the plane. He says it's nothing like anything he's seen before_."

The face in the frame wasn't his Alan. He wasn't the incorrigible, space-addled, homework-dodger Jeff had left behind. _Why should he be?_ he thought. _He's not my son. None of them are my sons…_

His gaze shifted to the left for a moment, lingering on the far-left portrait. It was the one not-son he hadn't seen. _Because he's in my universe – we think, at least – with my family. And I'm here with his…_ The similarity to his own solitary redhead brought a lump to Jeff's throat. _I just hope they'll all okay._

His attention returned as the video feed switched to a still image of an aircraft. Not just any aircraft, but a design Jeff knew well. He stood, unable to stop his limbs, and went to the screen. The design was familiar. What was more familiar, though, was the colouring – and the smudge of a logo on the side. it was a logo he had seen in this universe before.

"Do you recognise it?" the other Jeff asked.

"Yes," he said, reaching out. "The craft is a typical B7-TN2 cargo plane. They're used in everything from private companies to the military. But that's not all." He reached out and placed his fingers against the screen. It was warm under his fingertips.

"What is it?" Scott asked, going to his side.

"This logo…" Jeff shook his head. He couldn't find the words.

"Well, clearly it is," Scott said. "What gives?"

There was an edge to his tone, but it wasn't unkind. _Military,_ Jeff thought. _That's the military in him_.

Running his fingers over the yellow pixels, Jeff shook his head again.

"It's the logo of Ascension Technologies," he said. "I've seen it here before, on the canisters of nuclear waste that W.A.S.P. keep logging in the Pacific. They were coming from that anomaly."

"And now one of their planes has come through as well," the other Jeff said, grunting.

"I don't get it," Jeff said. He traced the smudge, where the rising star motif should have been. "Paul and I worked together for years. We set up that company to _prevent_ the need for nuclear power and, thus, nuclear waste. It doesn't make sense!"

"Regardless of whether it makes sense or not," the older Jeff said, "it would seem that your friend is involved in something more than just illegal dumping."

Those words bringing rage to the boil in his stomach, Jeff whirled on his heel and glared.

"He can't be," he said. "There is no way that Paul Garnett would be involved in something like this. He's a good man. He'd do anything for his cause, for his company, his family…"

Fragments of conversation with Paul came back.

 _I wish I was like you, Jeff. Your family, they're perfect._

 _Christopher…I don't know what to do with him. He's going off the rails._

 _How far would you go for your sons, Jeff?_

The hand on his shoulder snapped him from his memories.

"What is it?" Scott asked.

Shaking his head, Jeff focused on the screen again. But the logo was gone, replaced by a son he didn't know. Turning again, Jeff met Scott's blue gaze. He shook his head once more.

"Just remembering the last conversation I had with Paul," he said. "It was strange."

Scott's hand slid from his shoulder as he gave a smile that was halfway reassuring. He walked back to his father's desk, where the older man was issuing orders once more.

"Liaise with W.A.S.P.," he said to Alan. "See if you can track where that aircraft went. If it's come from another...universe or reality, he won't have anywhere to go. Keep an ear open for any reports of unidentified aircraft, or indeed for any calls for help."

" _F.A.B., Father._ "

With that, Alan clicked off, leaving only his portrait behind. Jeff walked to his counterpart and placed the flats of his hands on the older man's desk.

"What do we do in the meantime?" he asked.

The other Jeff's eyes glinted hard like steel.

"We do our jobs," he said.

"You mean we sit and wait," the younger Jeff said. It took all of his strength not to grit his teeth, "We do nothing."

" _You_ do nothing," the older man corrected. " _We_ respond when and where we're needed."

As he withdraw his hands, the younger Jeff's nails dug into the table top. There were fine scratches in the varnish.

He could do nothing and he would say nothing. Without a word, he turned and stalked off, past the faces of sons that weren't his, towards the room he had been given in a villa that wasn't his, on an island that bore his name and yet was not his at all.

He stopped short of slamming the door. He wasn't a child. But he did fall face-first on the bed, pressing his eyes to his forearms.

Paul's words sounded in his head again.

 _How far would you go for your sons, Jeff?_

The answer was simple.

 _As far as it takes._

 **~oOo~**

Hard and fast. Shuddering, jolting, _living_. There were many words to describe it. None of them were adequate. Gordon adjusted the too-large neck of Matthew's old military sweatshirt and snuggled into the corner of the couch.

"Where's me _tae_?" he hollered in the worst Irish accent he could muster.

On cue, Matthew poked his head above the island counter in his kitchenette and waved a box of teabags in the air.

"Shut up and wait," he said in mock anger, "or I'll shove these so far up your–"

Gordon held up a hand.

"I'm going to have to stop you there," he said. "Because, based on tonight's previous events, there are far too many jokes that could be made from that."

Matthew tapped the box to his chin and nodded.

"Fair enough," he said.

Grinning, he turned and pottered over to the kettle. Had the counter not been in the way, Gordon would have been treated to the sight of his backside. But, the island being where it was, he was denied that. Instead, he breathed in and sank into the sofa, letting his eyes wander the shelves.

There were photographs and trinkets galore, a treasure map of their experiences from the last five years. On-ride photographs from countless thrill rides and roller coasters. The pearl Gordon had hand-dived on their first-anniversary trip to Japan. The piece of green Connemara marble from their trip to Ireland for their second anniversary.

And, pride of place on the main wall, a canvas-print picture. Two sets of brothers. Four matching smiles. It was from Alan and Tin-Tin's wedding. _The second one,_ Gordon thought. _The real one_.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Matthew asked, pressing a warm mug into Gordon's left hand.

"Just the picture," Gordon said with a nod of thanks. "It's a good one."

"Aye, tis at that," Matt replied, settling himself at the other end of the couch. "I got an idea for another one, though."

"Oh?" Gordon said around a sip.

"I want to get one done when John and Eli get married," Matt said.

"If we're invited," Gordon said, raising one eyebrow – and the edge of his lips to match.

Matthew wagged a finger at the picture.

"See if those two bastards _don't_ invite us," he said, "especially after all this bullshit with disappearing and that, I swear to god, I'll drug Eli and pretend to _be_ him. And then I'll be married to John and it'll be the biggest 'screw you' you'll ever see."

Blinking, Gordon shook his head.

"Matthew, you're insane," he said. "Absolutely insane."

"And proud," Matt replied, raising his mug for a toast. "To being mental – and absent brothers."

"Here-here," Gordon said.

Their mugs _clunked_ as they touched. Gordon chuckled and took another drink. Then he looked sidelong at the other redhead.

"So, you'd marry John, would you?" he asked.

"Only to get back at Eli for being a twit," Matt clarified. He narrowed his eyes. "Would you marry Elijah?"

This time, the laugh burst from Gordon's lips. Tea slopped over the sides of the mug, seeping into the cushions.

" _What?_ " he asked. "No way! I'd be bored out of my mind."

"And frustrated, _if-you-know-what-I-mean_ ," Matthew said with a wink. Then a different kind of slyness came over his face. It made Gordon squirm a little. "Would you marry me?" Matt asked.

"Uhh…" Gordon's mind whirred as he tried to find the right answer. _What is the right answer?_ he thought. _If in doubt, counter with another question!_ "I don't know," he said. "Why, are you asking me?"

"No," Matthew said, running his finger around the rim of the mug. "Why should I be the one to do the asking?"

"Because you're older," Gordon said. "And taller."

Rolling his eyes, Matthew scoffed.

"As if either of those things matter," he said. "It should be you. You're the rich one."

"Do you want to be known as a gold digger?"

"Gordon," Matthew said, "I've been with you for five years. If I was a gold digger, I would have married and divorced you three times over by now."

"So you've thought about it?"

"No!" Brows furrowing, Matthew ran a hand through his fizzy bedhead curls. "Hang on a minute, thought about what? Being a gold digger or getting married – or both?"

Gordon reached out to smooth a stray tangle from Matthew's forehead and smiled.

"Getting married," he said. "I can't say I've really thought about it, before you answer. Just to put your mind at ease."

Matthew caught Gordon's hand and pressed a kiss to each of his knuckles in turn.

"Gordon, if it would make you happy, I would marry a goat for you."

"Please do not do that."

"I will not marry a goat, then," Matthew said. He turned Gordon's hand around and pressed the palm to his own bare chest. "But I'd do anything to make you happy," he said. "I'd even change my name."

"Matthew Tracy," Gordon mused. He set his mug down and let his now-free hand rest against Matthew's cheek. "I'll remember that."

Matthew shrugged, the nuzzled into the curve of Gordon's palm.

"A name's just a name," he said. "I –"

The emergency klaxon cut through their tranquillity. They leapt apart. Gordon went straight for his watch. Before he could call up his father, Jeff's face was already there. It was grim.

"Dad," he said. "What is it?"

" _There's an unscheduled launch of Thunderbird Four_ ," Jeff said. " _And if it's not you, there's only one person I think it could be – my counterpart_."

"That sonofabitch," Gordon said, throwing himself to his feet. "He's taking my ship!"

" _I'm afraid you're right, Gordon,_ " Jeff said, " _and I don't think we can get to him in time_."


	21. Chapter 21

It didn't take much to figure out how to work the little sub. As Jeff hurtled Four down the runway towards the blue freedom of the sea, he winced. He knew what his Gordon would say about calling Four the _little_ sub. He was pretty sure the other Gordon would feel the same.

 _I'm sorry, Gordon_ , he thought, not quite sure which aquanaut he was apologising to more. _But I can't stay here anymore._

Plunging into the water, Jeff activated the ballast control and adjusted the hydroplanes to send the sub down, down, down.

"Alright," he thought. "Part one of plan is complete. Now to figure out part two..."

He had shut off the comm. system to keep the fury of the elder Jeff Tracy away. The younger Jeff couldn't blame him. _I'd react in exactly the same way myself_. But he did need to activate the comm. because, in this strange world, he had only one friend - although friend was likely too strong a term in reality.

Jeff's fingers lingered over the controls as he steeled himself for the ire that was to come.

He pressed the button.

There was a burst of anger as the comm. switched on but it was short-lived. Jeff slammed in the frequency he wanted. Sweat broke out on his brow.

"Sheridan?" he said, swallowing. "Are you there?"

After a beat, the reply came.

" _Jeff? That you_?"

"Yeah, it's me," Jeff said. The sweat cooled. It tricked down his temple. "I may have done a dumb thing. I've... I've stolen a Thunderbird and I'm heading for you."

" _What the_ -?" Sheridan spluttered. " _Jeff, y'all are nuts! Why_?"

"I can't stay there any longer. I need to do something. They're doing nothing."

There was muttering on the line as Sheridan consulted with Coral. Then his voice came back loud and clear

" _Alright_ ," he sighed. " _Gimme the details. Let's see if we can't help y'all out again_."

Even though he knew little of the man, Jeff still sighed in relief.

"Thanks," he breathed. "First things first - I need to know how to deactivate the tracker on this thing. I'm sure they'll have one."

" _You in the yellow submarine_?" Sheridan asked. At Jeff's affirmative, he grunted. " _Well, at least I might know somethin' about it, since it's a sub. Give us your-co-ordinates. Coral and I are breaking off. We'll head out to ya_."

Doing as he was told, Jeff swallowed. His throat was dry.

 _I hope I'm doing the right thing..._

 **~oOo~**

"What the hell is he thinking?" Jeff asked, slamming his fist on the desk. Push pins and pens rattled.

Unable to stop herself jumping, Tin-Tin flinched. Her hands went to her baby bump, resting on its soft fabric cover. The skin underneath was firm.

She was about to offer some words of comfort but she was cut off before she could open her mouth.

"Land's sakes, Jeff!" Grandma Tracy admonished, holding Adam close to her side. "He's just doing what you would do in his place." Jeff parted his lips to retort, but Grandma's hand was quicker. Her raised finger allowed no argument. "Don't you say it," she said. "You'd have done the same. I know you, Jeff Tracy."

"Yeah, Grampa," Adam said.

Tin-Tin's eyes bulged. _Adam, this is not a good time!_ But the little boy's face was set in such an echo of his great-grandmother's that Tin-Tin couldn't help but smile.

Behind them, there was a stifled chortle. Tin-Tin glanced over her shoulder to see Matthew with his fist half-stuffed into his mouth.

Jeff was muted by both his mother's rebuke and his grandson's cuteness. He snapped his mouth shut and dropped into his desk chair.

At the same time, Scott reappeared. He wore the same frown he always did when he was kept back from a rescue: one that was deeply lined. Virgil and Gordon had gone after the other Jeff in Two, pod four an empty belly in the great green beast. Straight away, Jeff's attention was on his second in command.

"Alan's still tracking Four's progress," he said. "Virgil is hot on his heels."

"For now, Father," Scott said. He leaned against the desk. "If he's anything like me - or you, for that matter - he'll disable the tracker. And then we'll really be sunk."

Jeff's face darkened more. He nodded.

"Right. Of all the craft to take, he had to take that one."

"The logical choice," Scott said. "It's the only one he's been in. He'll have memorised as many of the controls as he could and it won't take much to figure out the rest."

Tin-Tin felt a twinge of discomfort as the baby twisted within her. She stepped back and headed for the couch. Immediately, there was a redhead at her side.

"You okay?" Matthew asked.

"Just uncomfortable," she said. She smiled gratefully as Matt passed her an additional throw cushion. "All this tension isn't doing me any good."

"She'll be grand when she comes out," Matthew said, gesturing at her baby bump. "She'll be a hardened fighter."

Tin-Tin raised an eyebrow.

"She?" she asked. "What makes you so sure?"

Shrugging, Matthew gave a lopsided smile.

"Just a feeling," he said.

Shifting to place the cushion behind her back, Tin-Tin winced.

"Well, whether it's a girl or a boy, I just hope he or she is okay." She gave a soft sigh. "I haven't had an easy pregnancy yet!"

Matthew reached out to pat her hand. There was an easiness about his eyes that made her feel better just under their gaze. It seemed strange to gain such comfort from a man who had shot someone dead right there in the lounge, ten feet from where they were sitting. _But it was necessary,_ Tin-Tin thought. _That evil wench would have killed us all..._

She tried not to think too much about the incident with Malaya. _It could have all ended so badly..._

But it didn't, she thought. It didn't then and it won't now. Once again, as it had done so many times before, her gaze flicked to the leftmost portrait. To the blond quiff. To those bright blue eyes.

 _Come home, John_ , she thought. _Come home_.

 **~oOo~**

Nothing. Such a simple word to sum up a simple truth. Scott had found nothing at the sight of the disappearance. No wreckage. No bits of floating fuselage. No sinking vessel. Nothing. It was as if the ship had never even been there. But it had been. And now it was gone.

John folded his arms and stared up at the midnight moon, picking out the ridges and dips that he knew so well. He traced the seas, from _Oceanus Procellarum_ all the way across to _Mare Fecunditatis_. The Copernicus crater blinked out like a white eye. _I guess the Moon is the Moon, no matter the universe_ , he thought.

For some time, he simply stood and looked. The ache of his ribs had lessened but the pain in his heart cut deeper. Somewhere up there, etched into the surface, there should have been a set of footprints that belonged to his father. The first footprints on the moon.

Here, those footprints didn't exist. Someone called Armstrong had been the first to set foot on the lunar surface, not a Tracy. On the surface the Moon looked the same. But if you looked close enough, it wasn't. Not at all.

"Nice night for it."

Turning, John blinked. Scott – this young Scott, who in some ways seemed older than his own Scott – padded to his side. His arms hung loose. He, too, was drawn to looking at the moon.

"I've always been a sucker for a body with an iron-rich core," John said, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, Scott simply _looked_ at him. John felt the grasp of anxiety tighten around his throat.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"No!" Scott said, John's worry jolting him back into action. "Not at all. It's just… You made a joke."

Twisting his lips, John tilted his head to one side.

"Yeah. So?"

Chuckling, Scott waved him off.

"Nothing, sorry," he said. "I just didn't expect it, that's all. John – _my_ John, isn't really one for jokes. Most of the time they just, _woosh_ ," he said, making a sweeping gesture above his head.

Returning his gaze to the Moon, John shook his head.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not him, then," he said. "If I didn't know how to laugh, I'd have cried myself to death a long time ago."

Wincing, John gritted his teeth. Suddenly, his glasses felt interminably heavy on the bridge of his nose. There was a moment of quiet. Just the sea breeze and the rustle of palm leaves broke through. Then came the question John had been quietly dreading.

"If you don't mind my asking," Scott began, "what happened to you? There've been a few mentions here and there of… _something_. I'm just curious, is all."

Swallowing against the lump that threatened to form in his throat, John half-turned. He caught Scott from the corner of his eye.

"Nothing good," John said. He winced at the pain in his voice. "I've…been through the wringer. A few times."

He was glad his arms were crossed, for even as they were, they started to shake. _At least this way, it's not as obvious…_

"How about a scotch?" Scott asked.

John turned around fully. He looked his not-brother straight in the eye, trying not to squint.

"Alright," he said at length. "One scotch."

They began to walk back towards the house, but John stopped.

"I take it you're not in the habit of drinking and flying," he said.

Chuckling, Scott ushered him in.

"Nah," he said. "I've reached my flight time limit for the day. Even if a call came in, I wouldn't be allowed to fly. Not that it would stop _me_. I know I can fly more. But _The Man Upstairs_ ," he said, pointing at the ceiling, "wouldn't let me."

"Who, God?" John asked as he followed Scott upstairs.

"Nearly," Scott replied with another chuckle. "John Tracy, God. Both all-powerful, all-knowing. Same thing, really."

"Hah."

John's laugh fell flat. As he climbed the stairs, his feet felt leaden. _I doubt my Scott would say that about me_ , he thought. _I'm definitely neither of those things. He holds the sway of power and knowledge – at least where rescues are concerned. After Dad, of course._

He followed Scott to the curved desk that looked down on the sunken couch area. Plucking a key from underneath an ornate jade ashtray – _Never used, I note_ , John thought – Scott unlocked one of the drawers under the table top. From inside he withdrew an almost-full bottle.

"Glenfiddich," he said, holding the bottle aloft. "Single malt deliciousness." Again from inside the drawer, he withdrew two round-bottom glasses that tapered towards the top. "Perfect for a 'wee dram.'"

Pouring the scotch and leading the way to the couch area, Scott gestured for John to sit. He did so, swirling the golden liquid around in the glass.

Several drams later, he had told all.

As if processing the information, Scott sat back and let out a low whistle.

" _Man_ ," he said. "I just… I can't believe how much you've been through. And you're still standing."

John, cheeks flushed from both scotch and embarrassment, waved the comment off.

"Just about," he said. "Most of the time, I feel like I'm walking through life on my knees."

"Hey, don't put yourself down," Scott said. He set his glass aside and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. "You've been through hell a few times and you've kept getting back up. And you haven't just survived. You've built a whole new life for yourself. You've got a kid. You've got a… _uh_ , boyfriend?" The last word came out as a question.

John shook his head.

"Fiancé, now," he corrected. "And it's soon going to be _kids_ , not kid. At least, that was the idea… We were all set to start looking into adoption. Then, _boom_." He emulated a slow-motion explosion with his hands, the empty glass clutched between his left-hand fingers. "Everything blew up. Again."

"We'll get you home," Scott said with far too much zeal for two in the morning. "Brains is working on something. He always comes through."

John chuckled.

"Sounds familiar," he said. His words were punctuated by a sharp yawn. Blinking, he leaned forward and set his glass aside. "I am far too old for this," he said. "I should get some sleep." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I can't keep up with you young whipper-snappers, now. What age are you, twenty-four, twenty-five?"

Grinning, Scott shrugged.

"A little of column A, a little of column B," he said. "I won't shame you with my true youth… _old man_."

"And on that note, I will take my ancient bones to bed. Thanks for the drink," he said, standing and arching his back. The disks popped. "Oh, man. I am old."

Waving his goodnight, Scott gathered the glasses. John walked off, his back slumped.

His head was spinning from the alcohol and his chest felt warmer – but that wasn't just a product of the scotch. Talking to Scott had been like… Well, talking to _Scott_. Therapeutic. Right.

He was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow. He dreamt of home, as he did every night.

This time, it was a good dream.


	22. Chapter 22

A little manipulation here, a little crime there… Mardochaios grinned. _It's all so easy,_ he thought. _Even easier in this world than in my own._

Since coming through the looking glass, nothing had been the same. It was all so primitive, as if the mid-twentieth century hard part-way melded with the future. There were so many cars – _autos_ , as they called them – and the entire world seemed to run on nuclear power. Grinning, Mardochaios stood up from the chair in his _acquired_ New Zealand hangar. He walked towards his _acquired_ plane. _It's a world where the Global Conflict never happened,_ he thought. He approached the craft, reached out to touch its new-old fuselage. _In this universe, the world never learned to fear the power of the atom. Perhaps that is a lesson I should teach them…once I've stolen all their reserves of uranium and plutonium, of course._

Mardochaios placed the flat of his hand on the plane's curved body and grinned.

 _There's another thing I'd rather like as well,_ he thought. His eyes went cold. _Their Thunderbirds_. _And where there are Thunderbirds, there is Jeff Tracy. And I want him, too._

Pushing off, he strode to the hatch of the small plane – a Learjet 300 XL5 – and took the steps two at a time. As he darkened the doorway, one of his helmeted subordinates snapped to attention.

"Sir, we're ready to put the plan into action."

"Excellent," Mardochaios purred.

He lowered himself into one of the plush seats and buckled the restraints. Normally he wouldn't bother, but this situation required safety harnesses.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

He didn't need to turn around. He knew what was behind him. Several men, all in black, all armed to the teeth – this universe was _very_ fond of its firearms. Another _acquisition_ that was all too easy to make.

"Very well," Mardochaios said. "Take us up. Cruise at 35,000 feet. I'll come in when we can start staging our little accident."

"Yes, sir."

Mardochaios watched the man disappear into the cockpit to carry out the orders. Then he reached out for the bottle of sparkling water on the smooth table. Slowly, he broke the seal, unfurled the wrap, unscrewed the cap and poured its contents into a small glass – a real one, not plastic. Taking a deliberate sip, Mardochaios savoured the feeling of the bubbles searing along his tongue.

He listened to the whirring sounds of the wing flaps adjusting for their flight into the crack of the morning sky.

He grinned.

 _Jeff Tracy. I am coming for you…_

 **~oOo~**

Thunderbird Four had been gone a day and it had been the longest day of Gordon Tracy's life. As the sun rose over the horizon, he sat on the balcony of Matthew's apartment with his arms wrapped around his knees. A cool breeze blew stray strands of hair across his eyes but he didn't reach up to tame them. _I can't believe this_ , he thought. _I just can't_.

Four was his baby. His best girl. His _life_.

 _And now I don't know where she is, her tracker is dead, and none of our efforts to find her have paid off. We can't get in contact with Sheridan – traitor – and I just feel so powerless…_

He silent rise of the sun was broken by the rasp of the patio doors. Gordon didn't turn as a set of footsteps padded towards him but he welcomed the warmth of the blanket that was draped around his shoulders.

"Couldn't sleep?" Matthew asked as he settled down beside him.

"Nope," Gordon replied.

They sat for some time, saying nothing. It seemed like the sun wasn't moving at all.

"It'll all come round," Matthew said eventually, the lilt of his accent accentuated by the softness of his tone. "All of it. It'll be put to rights. I just know it will."

Gordon felt his lips twist in a snarling smile and he shook his head.

"If you'll forgive my honesty," he snapped, "I think that's very naïve."

The warmth of the blanket seemed to disappear with the stiffening of Matthew's body at his side. Gordon had regretted the words even as they were pouring from his mouth, yet there was nothing he could do to stop them.

"Well, maybe I am naïve," Matthew said, his voice now flat. "But I have to believe that it'll work out. I have to believe that Elijah will come back to me. I can't… I mean, I _won_ 't –"

His voice fractured on the last word, the sound splintering into the morning hush. Gordon turned to see the flash of a tear-track, then a whirl of red as Matthew stood and strode back into the apartment. _Oh, shit,_ Gordon thought. _I didn't mean – Dammit!_

"Mattie!" he called as he scrambled to his feet. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, pooling where he had been sitting. "Matt! I didn't mean to be an asshole. It just… _happens_!"

The smooth floorboards were cool under his feet as he paced after his charge. _You are so dumb_ , Gordon berated himself. _You're not the only one who's suffering._

He followed the sound of snuffling into the bathroom and jerked his hand out just in time to stop the door being slammed in his face.

"Mattie, please," he said as he held it open, his muscles straining under the weight, "don't run away. It's okay to be annoyed at me. Most people are a lot of the time – just ask my brothers! And it's okay to be upset. Don't lock it all in. You're allowed to have feelings."

After a moment, the pressure from the other side of the door was released. He pushed open the door as Matthew sat on the lip of the bathtub, raking his fingers through his mess of red curls.

"Sorry, man," he said. "I'm blubbin' like a big baby."

"It's cool," Gordon said. He crouched down and reached up to pry Matthew's hands from his hair. "We're all emotional."

Matthew tried to grin. He sniffed at the same time, his face contorting.

"I know," he said. "It's just that I don't know what I'll do if I don't get Eli back. I honestly don't. We come as a set – me and him and him and me. Without him… I don't know who I would be. I don't know _how_ I could be. And…"

His voice wavered again as fresh tears spilled. Gordon knelt down and stretched up to envelop the Irishman in his arms.

"S'okay," he cooed. "It'll all work out, just like you said. It has to, right?"

Matthew nodded into his neck and sniffed again. Gordon tried not to chuckle as he drew back.

"Thanks," Matthew said.

"That's what I'm here for," Gordon said. "It'll all –"

His sentence was cut off by the sound of the emergency klaxon. The men's eyes met. They both rose.

"Emergency call," they said in unison.

Grabbing shoes and robes, they were off like a shot to the lounge.

They arrived just as Alan's live feed clicked back to his portrait. Virgil and Scott were already there, orbiting around Jeff's desk like moons.

"Boys, you're here," Jeff said. He too was in pyjamas, a robe hastily thrown on top. "Alan's had a call. There's a plane in distress in the South Pacific. They're rapidly losing altitude and are afraid they'll be unable to stop themselves from crashing."

"Is it the same co-ordinates as before?" Gordon asked.

Jeff nodded, the movement slow.

"It would seem so," he said. "We can assume this could have something to do with the other happenings, though the circumstances aren't exactly the same. The plane's descent seems to be more controlled and certainly not as swift. But we can't be too careful. Scott, I want you to –"

The eyes of Alan's portrait glowed in time with the signal beep. Jeff stopped speaking, looked from his eldest to the picture of his youngest, then twisted his lips. He activated the comm. No one else spoke.

"Go ahead, Alan," Jeff said.

" _Father, you're not going to believe this_ ," Alan said. His hair was ruffled from sleep, like stiff straw sticking in all directions. " _We've had another emergency call. There's been an explosion at a large manufacturing plant in Chile. Six people are trapped in the debris and there's no way the locals can get them out._ "

"Alright, Alan," Jeff said. "Tell them we'll respond."

" _But the other call_ …" Alan trailed off.

"We can handle this," Jeff said. "Tell them we'll respond."

" _F.A.B._ "

With that, Alan's portrait clicked back again. Gordon swallowed and licked his lips.

"Here's the plan, boys," Jeff said, spreading his hands across his desk. "Virgil will take Thunderbird Two with Pod Three and the Firefly. Matthew will go with him. The two of you will attend to the trapped workers in Chile."

"Yes, father," Virgil said.

"Yessir," Matthew replied.

Before he turned to jog to the passenger lift that would bring him down to Two, Matthew winked – in spite of the puffiness of his eyes – and mouthed something to Gordon. _Love you_.

Gordon mouthed the same back, then snapped to attention as Jeff turned his eyes to his remaining sons.

"Scott, you and Gordon will take Thunderbird One out to the South Pacific."

"We can use One's grapples to try and stabilise the plane," Scott said. He tipped his head at Gordon. "Ol' sharp-shooter here can handle it if I can't – and we can send him down to the plane by harness if necessary."

"Right," Jeff replied. Gordon rolled his eyes at the nickname as his father continued. "Then, if attempts to repair the plane are unsuccessful, you'll tow her in for an emergency landing at Auckland Airport."

"F.A.B., Dad," Scott replied.

Gordon threw his father a salute and headed for the auxiliary entrance of Thunderbird One. It was a rare thing for Scott to take a passenger.

Just as he rounded the corner out of the lounge, he heard the signal from Alan's comm. go again. _What in the world is going on this morning?_ he thought. But there was no time to contemplate. He had a job to do.

 **~oOo~**

In the depths of the South Pacific, and with Sheridan's guidance, Jeff Tracy had finally managed to disable Thunderbird Four's tracker. When the device had shut off the night before, it had done nothing to lift Jeff's guilt. Yet he did not return. _I can't_ , he thought. _I have to get home and they're not helping._

" _That sure is a swell machine_ ," Sheridan's voice came over the comm. " _Are you sure you won't let me have a gander_?"

Jeff shook his head, though the other man couldn't see the gesture.

"No can do," he replied. "I know I might have stolen this little baby from them, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to give away their secrets."

Secrecy was of even more importance to these Tracys in this world. _I guess without the internet, they're not used to being in the spotlight all the time._ He only needed to search online for International Rescue at home to find hundreds of pictures, videos and news articles about his own organisation – blurry and far-off as the images might have been. It wasn't possible to be completely secret but they did their best to get as close to it as possible.

"Well, just thought Ah'd ask again," Sheridan said. Jeff could hear the smile in his voice. "You may have noticed that Ah have a tendency to push mah luck."

"I have," Jeff said.

In the pause in conversation, Jeff looked away from the data feed Sheridan had given him on the portal incidents. He closed his eyes and listened to the inside of Four's cockpit – the clicks, the whirrs, the rumble of the systems. And the backing track to all of this was the burble of static on the comm. line. Once he'd disabled the tracker and figured out the systems, Jeff had set the comm. to no broadcast but kept the inbound system. Thus far, there hadn't been a peep from International Rescue. _Which is good,_ he thought. _I don't want to put someone in danger because I've stolen this craft. With any luck, they won't need it while I've…borrowed it_.

He returned his attention to the readouts again, trying to find some hole he could wiggle even a little finger into. _There's got to be some kind of way into the portal system_ , he thought. _But what?_

His musings were interrupted by a burst of sound through the comm. He jerked upright as he listened to the voice of his not-son.

" _Learjet 300 from International Rescue_." It was Scott. " _We are en route and will be with you in two and one-half minutes. Give me the full details of your situation_."

Even if he wasn't his Scott, Jeff couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the confidence of the other man's voice. _Just like my boy_.

But the next words made Jeff's blood run cold.

" _We're in a rather a pickle, you might say_."

That nasal tone. The British accent. Jeff couldn't breathe.

" _We've lost attitude control and we're losing height at a tremendous rate."_

Nasal voice. English accent. His throat tightened even more.

" _If you don't do something to help us, we'll be scattered in a million pieces across the sea floor."_

Nasal voice. British accent.

Too many alarm bells ringing at once.

"It can't be," Jeff rasped. "It just _can't_ be."

" _Jeff_?" Sheridan asked, his own voice strained. " _What's wrong?_ "

Scott was relaying information to the voice on the comm. They were going to send a man down. They were going to fix cables.

" _No!_ "

" _Jeff, talk to me, you sonofabitch!_ " said Sheridan. "What the heck is wrong?"

Scrabbling for words as he scrabbled for the comm., Jeff spluttered.

"Potentially something very, very bad," he said. "I need to warn them. I need to let them know that their operatives are in danger – I need to let Jeff know that his _sons_ are in danger."

" _How? What?_ "

But Sheridan didn't get to elaborate as Jeff jammed his hand onto the comm. system, mashing buttons to open a line.

 _I have to let them know. It's him. It's… The Hood._


	23. Chapter 23

" _Father_ ," Alan's voice came over the comm for the third time. " _I know I said you 'weren't going to believe this' before, but now, you're_ really _not going to believe this_."

"Spit it out, Alan," Jeff said, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice.

But it wasn't just irritation; that was a convenient mask. There was fear, too. _We can't respond to another emergency call_ , he thought. _We're spread too thin_.

" _Well, Dad_ ," Alan said, " _the…other_ you _is on the line. And he says you can't let Scott respond to the plane in distress_."

" _What_?" Jeff spat, balling his hands into fists. "Who the hell does he think he is? Put him through to me – _now_."

There was a brief pause before the other man's voice burst over the line. Jeff couldn't keep his ire down.

"Tracy, where are you and what have you done with my ship?" Jeff demanded. "And what is this about not responding to an emergency call?"

" _Jeff, you've got to listen to me_ ," the other man said. He sounded harried – almost desperate. " _You can't let your boys attend that call._ "

Snorting, Jeff shook his head.

"You're out of your mind," he said. "There are innocent people trapped on that plane. If we don't intervene, they'll –"

" _They're not innocent!_ " the other Jeff snapped. " _I recognised the voice from the transmission. The man on that plane is dangerous_."

"And how do you know this?" Jeff demanded.

There was a pause.

" _Because he's tried to kill me – several times_ ," the other Jeff said. " _Not only that, he's made it his life's work to try and steal the Thunderbirds_. _He's a thief, he doesn't care for the environment or human life – overall, he's a very dangerous man. And now all of this is starting to come together…_ "

"You'd better elaborate on that," Jeff said.

His hands were clasped so hard that his knuckles paled.

" _I don't know his real name_ ," the other Jeff said, " _but I know him as the Hood. He's been after me and my technology ever since I started International Rescue. He'll do anything to get his hands on whatever he wants, even kidnapping. Even killing. And now he's here, and I'd bet my bottom dollar that he has something to do with that portal and all of the nuclear waste being dumped in your ocean. Nuclear power's been outlawed back home for years but he's a well-known criminal. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all his doing. You have to stop your boys from walking right into his trap._ "

Shaking his head, Jeff clenched his jaw. He could feel his pulse thundering in his jaw.

"This is all supposition," he said. "There's no proof. It could be someone who simply sound likes this man you call the Hood."

" _Remember that cargo plane that came throug the portal before?_ " Jeff replied. " _Remember how it looked strange, how it disappeared? It was from my universe and I'll guarantee you that the Hood was on it. He's here and he wants your boys – it's exactly the kind of thing he'd do, and Scott's flying right into his web._ "

"Gordon, too," Jeff said, his throat tightening at the thought of his sons in danger. "I… If it's possible, I have to warn them. I just hope it isn't too late!"

 **~oOo~**

"Alright, I'm just about to deploy the grabs, Learjet," Scott said.

" _Thank goodness_ ," the man's voice came back. " _I'd rather like for this unpleasantness to be over_."

He'd introduced himself as Mardochaios – and seemed surprisingly calm for someone in danger of an imminent and watery death. At least, that was what Gordon thought. _Then again, Lady Penelope isn't one to panic easily, either_ , he thought. _Must be a British thing…_

From his position in the passenger jump seat, Gordon watched as Scott readied One's grabs.

"Deploying… _now._ "

The grabs shot off. Gordon felt the jerk as they connected with the downed plane. He gripped the arms of his seat as Scott adjusted for the additional weight.

" _Ah, that's better!_ " Mardochaios said. " _We seem to be much more stable, now._ "

Scott grinned and looked over his shoulder. Gordon took that as his cue to unclip himself from his restraints.

"Good to hear, Learjet," Scott said. "I'm sending a man over to have a look at your equipment. We'll see if we can get you back on your own wings, so to speak. If not, we'll tow you to safety."

" _Excellent_ ," Mardochaios replied. " _I'm hopeful that your man will be able to solve my little problem_."

Gordon threw Scott a sloppy salute before turning.

"It's all old hat to me, now," he said. "Climbing into planes, disarming bombs, solving problems. Pfft." He grinned. "I'll be back in five."

"Don't get cocky, Gords," Scott called after him.

In spite of the warning, Gordon could hear the smile in his brother's voice.

After making his way down the body of the great silver rocket, Gordon strapped himself in to the safety harness attached to one of the lines, clipped the oxygen mask across his face, and awaited Scott's instructions. Within a minute, he was out in the cold grey of the open sky, looking down at the ocean far below. _I'm a sea guy_ , he thought. _How the heck do I keep getting shoved out into the air?_

He didn't try to answer as he made his way from craft to craft, leaving the safety of One's silver embrace for the unfamiliar whiteness of the Learjet.

"Scott," he said when he planted his feet on the roof of the other plane, "how high are we? Can they open the door without causing a huge problem?"

" _We're steady at eight thousand feet now,_ " Scott replied. " _They should be able to open it as long as they strap in and depressurise the cabin. I'll relay the message._ " He chuckled. " _Sit tight._ "

"Ha-ha," Gordon said. "Insert witty comeback here."

His mind wasn't in the right place for coming up with jokes – not with nothing but a harness and a lot of hope between him and an eight-thousand-foot drop to the sea. _And even_ I _don't like the ocean enough to take a dive from this height…_

After a minute that felt like a century, Scott chimed back in again.

" _They've got O2 masks on and have depressurised the cabin_ ," he said. " _They're opening the cabin door for you now._ "

"F.A.B.," Gordon said.

Sure enough, his entrance to the plane was granted and Gordon wasn't ashamed to breathe a sigh of relief into his oxygen mask as he unclipped himself from the outside line and pulled the plane door closed again.

"International Rescue, at your service," he said.

One of the masked men unbuckled himself from his seat. He reached out to shake Gordon's hand. He was a bald man, tall with strange eyes that seemed to shift colour in the light.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," he said from behind his mask. From the accent, Gordon knew he was Mardochaios. "I'd certainly appreciate any help that you can offer us. I've just acquired this plane, you see, and I'd rather not have to ditch it in the ocean if it can be helped."

Gordon nodded and turned his attention to the cockpit door.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, "though there's no guarantees. I'm usually more of a frogman than and airman."

Mardochaios grinned – or at least, Gordon assumed he did. He couldn't see his mouth but the skin around his eyes crinkled.

Making his way to the cockpit, Gordon nodded at the pilot and co-pilot, who were dressed all in black. From the corner of his eye, Gordon spied two helmets on the ground – odd ones, blocky and also black. They were conspicuous in their strangeness.

Shaking the strange feeling off, Gordon knelt down and pulled one of the front panels from the cockpit controls. Soon enough, he was wrist-deep in wiring as he looked for any obvious problems. _Virgil would have been the better one for this_ , he thought. _He's the technical one – not to mention he knows a heck of a lot more about planes than I do…_

As he worked, comm. chatter from the island and One sounded via the earpiece in his helmet.

" _Scott!_ "

Gordon's whole body stilled at that one word. It was their father and he sounded _distressed_.

" _What's up, Dad?_ " Scott replied.

Gordon could hear Scott trying and failing to keep the irritation from his voice. Sitting up, Gordon tightened his grip on the wiring. _Dad doesn't normally bother us in the middle of operations_ , he thought, _and he doesn't sound right. Something's wrong._

" _Have you made contact with the other plane?_ " their father asked.

" _Just have_ ," came Scott's reply. " _Gordon's over there –_ "

" _No, disengage,_ " Jeff said. " _That plane might not be what you think it is_."

" _But Dad, they're –_ "

" _Scott, do as I –_ "

In that moment, several things happened at once. Their father's voice cracked like a whip. Gordon's brows furrowed.

And the barrel of a gun was pressed into his back.

"Don't move," Mardochaios purred, "or I'll shoot. Now stand up and keep your hands where I can see them."

Releasing the cabling from his grip, Gordon did as he was told. He stood slowly and lifted his arms into the air, clenching his teeth.

"Uh, Scott?" he said. "We have a bit of a… _situation_ here."

"Yes, you do," Mardochaios said. His breath was hot on the nape of Gordon's neck. "I'm assuming you can hear me, too? Whoever you are over in Thunderbird One."

There was a silence that was filled only with the strength of Scott's contempt.

" _I can hear you_."

"Well now," Mardochaios said, "don't do anything rash, or else I'll put a bullet straight through this young man's back. But if you do exactly what I say, no one will get hurt."

" _What do you want?_ " came Scott's voice. It echoed in both Gordon's helmet and now out in the cockpit as well.

Gordon swallowed as the pilot's hands flew over the controls, bringing all of the Learjet's systems back online again. The co-pilot pulled out another firearm. _Shit_.

"It's simple," Mardochaios said. "I want your Thunderbird craft. That's all. It's a simple request, really, and there's no need for anyone to get hurt over it."

"You're insane," Gordon spat, trying to look over his shoulder. His insolence earned him a jab in the back with the muzzle of the pistol.

"No, my dear," Mardochaios said, "I'm not. I'm quite sane and quite clever. Now, do as I say."

" _And how do you intend to take my Thunderbird?_ " Scott asked, his voice cold.

Chuckling, Mardochaios clamped a hand on Gordon's shoulder and wrenched him backwards into the main body of the plane. He spun him around, then put a boot to Gordon's sternum, sending him toppling backwards into a seat, breathless.

"It's simple," Mardochaios said. "You give me the Thunderbird and your brother lives. But deny me what I want and… _boom_. He's dead. It's as simple as that."

Cold sweat broke out across Gordon's forehead as he righted himself but he beat back the fear. _It's nothing I haven't faced before_ , he thought. _These guys never get what they want. It never works out._

His own words from earlier in the morning echoed back to bite him.

 _If you'll forgive my honesty, I think that's very naïve._

"And even if you don't willingly hand over your craft," Mardochaios continued, "I think you'll find that you don't have much of a choice."

" _What do you mean?_ " Scott snapped.

"I mean," Mardochaios said, looking out the portside windows of the plane, "that I always get my way – I make sure of it."

" _What?_ "

But Gordon had followed Mardochaios's eye line and he shook his head. His blood ran cold.

There was the cargo plane. The one from before. And all of a sudden, he knew what was going to happen. There was no doubt.

"Open the portal," Mardochaios said.

Those words confirmed everything.

" _What the –_ "

Scott's words were lost as the sky opened, flashing bright and white and swirling like a maelstrom.

"Take us through," Mardochaios said, the calmness of his voice at odds with the insanity of the situation.

" _Gordon_!" Scott called. " _Gordon are you –_ "

More swirling lights. More strangeness. A jerking movement forward. A sensation of being swallowed whole.

Gordon thought of Matthew.

And then there was nothing more.


	24. Chapter 24

He hadn't _technically_ lied about his flight time hours. Scott smiled as he sat in One's pilot seat, waiting for his passenger. When he'd told blond John he had used up all his flight time hours, he had simply neglected to mention some of those were hours set aside for his _next_ flight. And as for the scotch, well… A little sleight of hand and pressed-closed lips and he'd managed not to drink anything at all, yet seem to have done so. _This boy's got skills_ , Scott thought. _You have to be a master of manipulation with four younger brothers running around._

His left leg started to bounce as impatience grew. _I wish Brains'd hurry up_ , he thought. The scientist had come up with something he thought could operate the portal – or whatever it was. Brains had gone into the details but Scott's eyes had glazed over. He was an intelligent man but had little time for words. Scott Tracy was born of action and bred of the need to _do_. Talking wasn't his speciality

Eventually, Brains bumbled into One and took his place in the passenger jump seat – his hands quivering with a slight tremble.

"Don't worry, Brains," Scott said. "We're not going far."

"I kn-know, Scott," Brains replied as he strapped himself in. "But that d-doesn't do anything to c-calm my nerves. I _h-hate_ flying. But I d-don't have a choice. There isn't anyone else."

It was true. Virgil, Gordon and Alan were in Argentina, attending to a bridge collapse. Kayo was following a lead in New Zealand. And John was as John always was – in Five.

"I'll keep her nice and steady for you," Scott said as he activated launch procedures.

"Th-thanks."

One stayed steady in her cradle as she ascended to her launch pad. Scott closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the rumble of her systems. Then came the familiar vibrations began as the launch began – and soon, they were in the sky.

"So, walk me through this plan of yours again, Brains," Scott said as he activated the M.I.D.A.S. system and brought them to horizontal flight.

There was a waver in Brains's voice, though he was clearly trying to keep a handle on his fear – and nausea.

"W-well," he began. "I've mapped out the locations of all of the incidences of this ph-phenomenon. They're all happening within a mile of latitude -36.102376° and longitude 127.96875°."

Scott was glad Brains couldn't see his face, as he rolled his eyes. He couldn't help it. _I'm glad the computer systems are better at remembering numbers than I am!_

Brains went on.

"By my c-calculations, those co-ordinates are the epicentre of this strange anomaly – they represent some kind of p-portal or rip between universes. Of course, that's all speculation. We don't _really_ know what's happening, but –"

"Brains," Scott said, "just stick to the main details."

His words were sharp but the tone kindly. Brains spluttered and Scott could imagine him shaking his head to clear the fuzz of extraneous information.

"Y-yes, of course," Brains said. "Well, whatever it is, I b-believe this is the centre of it all. And using data gathered from Five, John and I have come up with a theory based on loop quantum gravity. Space time is atomic, being made up of particles of only 10-35 meters in size. Now the idea behind it is that as the incompatibilities between quantum mechanics and standard general relativity are remedied –"

" _English_ , Brains," Scott said. "Please."

"S-sorry," the scientist said. "Essentially, we fire a s-specialised beam at the site and we c-create what is essentially a t-tiny black hole. It starts to squeeze but then it releases again – just like opening a door."

Adjusting his heading as they hurtled ever-closer to the co-ordinates, Scott furrowed his brow.

"Opening a black hole? Isn't that dangerous?" he asked.

"Everything is d-dangerous," Brains said. His voice was thick with nausea. "B-but we have to try."

"Right."

The comm. sounded and John's hologram appeared in front of Scott. By the pull of his face, he did not bring positive news.

"What's up, Thunderbird Five?" Scott asked.

" _Nothing good_ ," John replied. His fingers adjusted controls that Scott couldn't see, but it looked like he was manipulating his holo-globe. " _I can see several craft approaching the target location from another direction and there's no good reason for it. There are no flight plans filed for them. I don't know what they're doing, but it can't be good. Be on guard for trouble._ "

There was a new set to Scott's mouth, though he still managed to grin.

"Always, John," he replied. "We'll be careful."

John's face was flat and his answer deadpan.

" _You'll excuse me if I don't immediately believe you_ ," he said. " _The words 'Scott Tracy' and_ 'careful' _don't always go together_."

"I'll behave," Scott said.

John stared at him for a moment, his tiny hologram exuding more authority than it had the right to. Then he nodded. The hologram clicked off. Scott sighed.

 _I have to behave_ , he thought. _This could be our way of getting Dad back at last._

That thought alone was enough to cool Scott's recalcitrant ways. There was nothing more important than getting their father back. Nothing.

 **~oOo~**

Alan's voice cut through the silence of the lounge.

" _Father! Father, they're gone!_ "

Those were words Jeff Tracy never wanted to hear again. Yet there he was, letting their meaning sink in. _Christ_.

"What do you mean?" he asked, although he knew exactly what Alan meant.

" _Dad, the Learjet and Thunderbird One – they've disappeared off the radar. I can't see them!_ "

For a moment, Jeff felt as though he was encased in ice. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Everything was cold. Numb. Alan's words echoed.

 _I can't see them!_

Slowly, Jeff rose from the desk. He tightened the belt of his robe. He stepped back.

"Alan," he said, steeling his voice. "Don't panic, son. Keep an eye on the other rescue in Chile. I'm going out to see what's happened to my sons."

" _Dad, you can't – I mean, you don't know –_ "

"I know enough," Jeff said. "Now do as I say."

Striding from the desk, Jeff met his mother on the way out of the lounge.

"Jeff, what's going on?" the elderly woman asked. Her hands were trembling. She looked at him with a slight tilt to her head, as if she was seeing someone she hadn't set eyes on in years. "Jeff, you're scaring me."

"Please man the desk, Mother," Jeff said. "Alan will fill you in. Get Brains up here. I'm going out."

"Jeff! What –"

He didn't stick around to hear the rest of her sentence. Instead, Jeff strode off and lifted his wrist. He made a call that, ten minutes before, he would never have dreamed of making.

"Thunderbird Four," he said. His footsteps pounded as he went to his room for a quick change. "Tracy, I know you can hear me."

There was a brief pause. Then the usurper's frown appeared on the face of Jeff's watch.

" _What's happening_?" he asked. " _I've been listening in and I don't understand. There've been more disturbances up there._ "

"What's happening is that I need your help," Jeff said as he hastily threw on old cargo pants and a shirt over the top of his pyjamas. "What's happening is that my sons are in danger because of your enemy. And you're going to help me get them back. You complained that we weren't doing anything before," he said as he thrust his feet into a pair of old work boots. "Well, now we are. So get your ass and my craft back to the W.A.S.P. site as soon as you can."

There was another pause.

" _I'm already here, Jeff_ ," the usurper said. " _We came back once the tracker was disabled._ "

Jeff grunted.

"Hiding in plain sight," he said. Then he lowered his voice. "Just what I would have done."

" _So, what's the plan_?"

"Plan A is to pick you up," Jeff said as he rose. "Plan B is to figure out what to do after that."

" _I like your style_ ," the other Jeff said.

Grunting, Jeff stalked out and towards the hangar where Tracy One was nestled.

"Just be ready," he said. "Tracy out." He adjusted the watch, closed the channel, then opened a new one. "Brains? I need to know exactly how far into your research you are and what we can do to open that portal. Thunderbird One has gone, taking Scott and Gordon with it."

" _I h-have a few ideas_ ," Brains said.

"Good. Meet me at Tracy One right away and bring everything you've got." Jeff took the stairs three at a time in his haste to descend to the hangar complex. "I'm getting my sons back."

An old question rolled through his mind, something he'd been asked by a now-forgotten friend. _How far would you go for your sons, Jeff?_

He couldn't remember the face, he couldn't place the voice, but it was a question asked in the wake of Lucy's death. A question asked as the uncertainty of the family's future loomed.

He couldn't remember the face and couldn't place the voice, but Jeff knew the answer. There was no hesitation.

 _As far as it takes._

 **~oOo~**

White. Everything was white. Scott struggled to lift his head against the g-forces that battered him. They had been pulled through the portal. They were somewhere between here and there – and it _hurt. Got…to…regain control…_ he thought.

His hands struggled to rise back to One's levers but eventually, they felt the ecstasy of plastic and metal beneath them. _Have to…pull up…_

There was noise and brightness all around, pelting him, consuming him. But Scott Tracy was not one to be beaten – especially not when one of his younger brothers was in danger. He hadn't heard a peep from Gordon over on the other ship. He might have been unconscious.

He might have been a lot of things that Scott didn't want to think about.

So instead of thinking, he tightened his grip on the levers and tried to wrestle control of his bird back into his own hands.

And then there was a burst of colour that blasted his retinas. The cabin was filled with shrieks of alarms and flashes of warning lights.

"Got…to pull up…"

The ocean loomed ever-closer. And all Scott could do was wrench the controls in vain.

 **~oOo~**

" _Thunderbird One, something's happening._ "

John's hologram appeared again as Scott started his breaking procedure.

"What is it?" Scott asked.

" _One of those portals is opening again_ ," John said. " _There's something coming through. It's a ship – two ships, in fact. And -_ "

John's voice stopped dead just as the scene came into Scott's view. And Scott didn't need to ask why his brother's voice had cracked, mid-sentence.

"John, am I seeing this right?"

" _You are, Scott_ ," John replied.

"Wh-what's going on?" Brains asked from the rear of the cabin.

"See for yourself."

Scott pulled One around and brought her to a hover, keeping a safe distance from the portal. His mouth went dry. He lost all words.

Thunderbird One was coming through the rip between universes.

"Ho-ly shit," Scott breathed.

" _Indeed_ ," was John's reply.

But there was no time to think about the impossibility. It became clear that both the other One and the ship it was tethered to were in distress – and none of the craft that had approached the scene were doing anything to help. _Why are they even here?_ Scott thought.

Brains had unbuckled himself and was close to Scott's side.

"Scott, this is a p-perfect opportunity to see if my beam will work," he said.

"Lives first," Scott replied. "I need to stop those craft from going down."

"You d-do that," Brains said, scientific curiosity and the overwhelming thought of _what-the-hell?_ seeming to calm his nerves. "I'll work around you. I'll s-see if I can get the portal to st-stay open."

Scott looked from the hologram of John, then over his shoulder to Brains, then back to the scene that was playing out in front of him. His ship – and yet not his ship. Going down.

It didn't matter that it wasn't him. It didn't matter than none of this made sense. The thought of One going down was too much for him to bear.

"Do your thing, Brains," he said. "I'm going to secure those planes with magnetic lines."

" _I'll notify Thunderbird Two_ ," John said. " _They're not far off your position as they're on the way back._ "

"Tell Virgil to punch it," Scott said. "I'm not sure how long One can take the strain."

" _F.A.B._ "

Swinging the craft around as John disappeared, Scott snapped to action and engaged his VTOLs, pushing One up to gain enough altitude.

"Stricken craft from International Rescue," he said. "Don't panic. We're here to help."

There was a crackle of static on the line before he received a response.

" _That's my line…_ "

Scott's brow furrowed.

"Huh?"

But there was no time to think about it too much. _Saving lives now, thinking later_.


	25. Chapter 25

When Thunderbird One had gained enough height, Scott fired the magnetic grabs. There was a jolt as they connected with the silver body of the other rocket. One's engines strained with the sudden new weight.

"Easy," he said, unsure whether he was talking more to the craft or himself. "C'mon, now. We can do this."

The hurtle of the other craft was slowed by Scott's intervention, but the weight was too much and he could feel himself losing altitude. Looking out, he watched as they were surrounded by the ships John had warned him about. They were dark. They were looming. And they were not there for a good reason.

"John, what's going on?"

" _I don't know_ ," his brother replied. His voice was tight. " _Virgil's nearly there. Just hold on for a few more minutes_."

"I don't know if we have a few more minutes," Scott said. "What are those other planes doing here?"

The answer came not from his brother, but from an all-too-familiar voice.

" _Ah, Mr Tracy. How good of you to join us_."

Scott went very still. He blinked. Then his stomach lurched.

"The Hood!"

The sound of his family's old enemy's chuckling was like an ice spike through Scott's spine.

" _How wonderful it is to be back in a universe where people know who I am_ ," he said. " _This is all shaping up to be quite a marvellous day._ "

"What do you want?" Scott demanded. "What are you even doing?"

Another cold chuckle sounded.

" _I couldn't get my hands on your father or any of your brothers, nor your Thunderbird machines. So I've stolen someone else's toys – and someone else's son._ "

A new voice cut in.

" _You bastard. I'll –_ "

There was a sharp crack that was followed by a grunt of pain. Scott's ears burned at the sound of the pain in the new voice. It wasn't quite right, but… It sounded like _Gordon._

Another Thunderbird One. Another Gordon. Another John at home. Scott's mouth went dry as the Hood's plan became all-too clear.

"You're stealing from another universe!" he hissed.

" _Another universe_ ," the Hood said, " _another dimension, another world – whatever you want to call it. I'll always find a way to get what I want."_

" _Not today you won't!_ "

This time it was a thoroughly familiar voice, a deep baritone, that sounded in the cockpit. Scott's heart leapt with joy.

"Thunderbird Two!"

" _At your service_ ," Virgil replied.

There were several resounding clunks as Two added her might to the falling craft. Immediately, One was relieved of the strain. Steadied now, Scott only hoped that Brains was facing in the right direction to see the portal and do whatever it was he was going to do.

" _Welcome to the party,_ " the Hood purred. " _You might have Thunderbird Two, but my minions have joined us and I don't think you'll be able to match our strength. We have weapons – you don't. Now, do as I say and no one need get hurt_."

" _You've got to be kidding me_ ," Gordon's voice broke through the comm. like a whiplash. It was Scott's own Gordon this time. He could almost taste his younger brother's indignation. " _You're actually calling them 'minions' now? How much more cheesy could you get_?"

" _That's exactly what I was thinking_."

That was the other voice. The not-Gordon. Scott winced. _This is getting confusing_.

" _Shut up, all of you_ ," the Hood snapped. " _Listen to me carefully and all will be well. My ships are gathered here and they're armed to the teeth. It wasn't my intention to steal more Thunderbirds today – after all,_ One _is enough._ " He chuckled at his own joke but no one else joined him. " _However, I've never been one to turn down an opportunity. Let my men board your vessels and take control and I'll allow you to leave unharmed. I'll even hand over this idiot._ "

" _Hey_!" the not-Gordon exclaimed.

By the sound of the slap, he received nothing good for his outburst. Scott winced again. Then he scowled as the reality of the Hood's words sank in.

"You're insane if you think we'll hand over the Thunderbirds," he said through gritted teeth. "You've tried this before and it never works."

" _Yes, but I didn't always come armed,_ " the Hood said. " _But this time I have – and this time I have a human bargaining chip. Give me what I want or he dies_."

" _Don't do it!_ " the other Gordon said. " _It's not worth it_."

Scott felt as though he was frozen in place, stuck between one horrific choice and another. _International Rescue is all about saving lives_ , he thought. _How can I justify sacrificing even one life to preserve our technology?_ His heart faltered. _But what will the Hood do with the technology? He'll cause more devastation, more death. What is the right choice?_

His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of powerful engines that weren't his, nor Thunderbird Two's. The high-pitched whine of old-style VTOLs blasted out across the scene. Scott looked. It was the other craft. It was the other _him_.

" _They might not have weapons_ ," the voice that wasn't his own said, " _but I do_."

Intuitively, both Scott and Virgil detached their magnetic lines as the other One kept herself aloft. Then, without warning, the craft opened fire.

"He's got a machine gun!" Scott said, not sure if he was horrified or enthralled.

The other silver rocket may have looked antiquated but it could certainly move. It banked upwards as the other aircraft scattered, taking the Hood's plane with it.

Scott tried to close his mouth but found it impossible to move his jaw.

"A _machine-gun_?"

 **~oOo~**

There was no better feeling than the sweep of Thunderbird One rising under her own power again. There were many things that Scott Tracy needed to process about the scene around him but he had no time to contemplate them. _I have to get Gordon back_ , he thought. _Then I'll try and figure out this…mess._

Sending another warning burst of fire across the ocean, Scott pressed his lips into a thin line and breathed slowly, in, out. _I don't want any of them to get hurt_ , he thought. _But sometimes, there is no other choice_.

" _Scott!_ " Gordon's voice burst across the line. " _Stop!_ "

" _You might want to heed his warnings,_ " Mardochaios – _the Hood_ – said. " _I have a gun and this is a very small cabin. Accidents happen all too easily._ "

"You're outnumbered," Scott said. "Your other planes have scattered. Do as I say and release my brother. You don't have a choice."

The Hood gave a tinkling yet discordant laugh, like the sound of black snowflakes.

" _There is always a choice_ ," he said. " _Like the one I'm going to make when I put a bullet right into your compatriot's back. I can only assume that this is your brother, correct?_ " He laughed again. " _You Tracys are all the same. Blinded by your own family ties. Just like your father. Just like_ Jeff."

His heart twisting, Scott shook his head. _I don't understand. What about Dad?_

" _Uh, Scott? Not my Scott, the other Scott,_ " a voice asked.

It was strange yet similar. It came from the blocky Thunderbird Two – a craft that looked like one of the early prototypes for their own smooth and rounded craft.

"Virgil?" Scott asked.

" _Uh, yeah,_ " came the reply. " _I have a plan to get your guy out of there, if you'll listen._ "

Scott felt a familiar tug in his chest and a lump in his throat.

"I'm always all-ears for a Virgil idea," he said.

The voice that wasn't his brother's relayed the information and Scott couldn't help but grin, no matter the situation. _I guess Virgil is one of the universal constants_ , he thought, _because this is exactly what he would do…_

 **~oOo~**

In the other Thunderbird One, Scott listened to the plan that was relayed on a channel away from the Hood's prying ears. _That's my bro_ , he thought. Then he turned his attention to Brains.

"How are things going up there?" he asked via the comm. "Any progress?"

" _Th-this data is incredible!_ " came the spluttering reply. " _It's absolutely amazing and –_ "

There was no time for explanations. Scott cut across him.

"Can you keep the portal open?" he asked.

" _Y-yes_ ," Brains replied. "I think so."

"Can you reopen it?"

" _I'm not so sure on that one_ ," Brains replied. " _But I have more information now, so I'm c-closer to a solution than I would have been._ "

"Good enough," Scott said. "Keep it open for now. This might be the only chance to send these guys home – including John and Elijah and Lyra back home."

 _And_ , he continued in his own head, _it might lead us to Dad. It's starting to look certain that his disappearance is all tied up in this – especially with the involvement with the Hood…_

 **~oOo~**

It wasn't the first time Gordon Tracy had a gun pointed in his face. It was, however, the first time he had come across a set of Thunderbirds that weren't his own. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of time to contemplate the day's events. Instead, he had Scott – his own Scott – relaying information in his ear that he couldn't respond to, but that the Hood also couldn't hear.

" _Say something stupid if you understand me_ ," Scott said.

Gordon tried not to roll his eyes. He knew exactly what to say.

"Oh boy, this sure isn't a _minty_ situation at all."

The barrel of the Hood's gun momentarily slipped downwards as his bushy eyebrows rose.

"Shut up," he snapped.

Scott chuckled in Gordon's ear.

" _F.A.B. We'll be ready when you are_. _Everyone's in position._ "

 _Can I really be ready for this_? Gordon thought. _This is insane…_

The plan was indeed insane. But there was no other choice. He was glad he still had his oxygen mask and visor attached to his helmet.

"Y'know," he said, backing over to the doorway of the plane, "it's been nice and all, but… I gotta say. This isn't for me."

The Hood snarled.

"You really are an idiot. What on Earth do you mean?"

"What I mean is," Gordon said, ever-so-slowly, "is that it's time for me to _fly_."

" _What_?"

Without warning, Gordon kicked out as high as he could, sending the gun soaring from the Hood's hand. It clattered to the cabin floor as the man screeched in part-pain and part-frustration. Seizing his moment, Gordon leapt for the operating controls of the aircraft door – and thankfully, the safeties were still disengaged.

"Ta-ta," he said in his worst imitation of an English accent. "It's been positively horrible."

And then he didn't think about what he was about to do. He just did it.

Gordon leapt out into the big blue.

Freefalling towards his beloved ocean, he thought about everything. Every single possible thought he could have had seemed to converge in his brain at once.

He thought of John, somewhere in this same reality. _I'm fine, Gordo. Just fine. You will be too._

He thought of his father, somewhere else, not quite in the same space and yet still occupying his mind. _You'll be alright, son_.

And he thought of Matthew, so far away from him, already crumbling, and yet still with strength lingering underneath. _It'll all come around._

Gordon closed his eyes, safely behind his goggles. The tops of his cheeks burned with the battering of the wind. He inhaled the air from his O2 mask, letting it fill up his lungs.

He thought of his family, one by one. He willed them to send him good luck. Hope.

Then he opened his eyes again, only to find himself scooped up by a pair of strong hands – and looking through a helmet visor into eyes that mirrored his own.

"Oopsie!" the other man said, his voice coming through Gordon's earpiece, the lip sync just slightly off. "Let's get you safely into this harness and we'll see if we can get fisherman Virgil to reel us in. I hear we're a _good catch_."

The man's hands were like vices as he worked to secure Gordon into the safety harness, calm and cool even as they hurtled downwards.

"Who are you?" Gordon called out.

"International Rescue, at your service!" the man said. Giving a final tug on the restraints that now bound them together, he grinned. "I've got him, Virgil. Pull us up!"

There was a change in pressure and speed as they went from freefalling to a controlled dip. Then they were rising.

Gordon looked up to see where they were going. They were being winched into the belly of the blocky Thunderbird Two. He looked back down and stared at the man he was strapped to. He was younger, blonder. His eyes were a little browner, but there was something about the cut of his cheekbones that made Gordon's heart stutter for a moment.

"Gordon?" he asked.

"Gordon," the other man said. "Gordon Tracy. Pleased to meet you."


	26. Chapter 26

The portal was still there, poised like a bear trap, ready to snap.

When Jeff hauled his younger counterpart into the Learjet, leaving Thunderbird Four in the untrustworthy hands of W.A.S.P., he had no smiles left. He pinned the other Jeff with a vicious look and jabbed a finger at his face.

"Anything happens to that craft, I'm holding you responsible," he said. "And if anything happens to any of my sons –"

"I know, I know," the younger man said, holding his hands up in capitulation as he flopped into the co-pilot's chair. When he spoke again, the words were thin. "Believe me, I know. My sons are… They're the most important thing in my life. That's why I did all this. That's why I had to _do_ something."

His mask of anger cracking, Jeff turned away and pulled the jet about.

"Well, we're doing something now," he said. "I need to get my sons back."

The other Jeff's eyes softened.

"And I need to get back to my sons," he said.

They looked at one another then, grey meeting grey.

The decision was made. It had been made a long time before. They were both different, and yet fundamentally, they were the same. They shared something, some primordial essence that seemed to link them together, through space and time and dimensions, some absolute truth. They were each Jeff Tracy. A father. A son. A husband. A widower. An astronaut. A hero.

A willing sacrifice.

Without another word, Jeff took the Learjet forward, deep into the black abyss.

 **~oOo~**

It felt like a thousand things were happening at once. Brains was working on the portal. The other One was shooting out every window on the Hood's ship. Gordon had just entered the belly of Two with… _Gordon_? And Scott was developing a killer headache. _One thing at a time,_ he thought. He pressed his comm.

"How're things going back there, Brains?" he asked.

Still keeping One steady, he watched with wide eyes as the other One kept up a barrage of fire on the Hood's ship.

" _I th-think I might have it…_ " Brains said. " _Y-yes, I think I've nearly g-got the right –_ " He stopped, mid-sentence. " _Oh, my. There's s-something else coming through!_ "

Scott laughed, a hollow sound of disbelief. He shrugged.

"Why the heck not?" he asked. "Who's come to join the party people now?"

Scott pried his eyes from the other One to look at the portal. It was gleaming and winking, the shape of something antiquated coming through.

 **~oOo~**

It was just like before. The bright light. The twisting and turning, the falling.

The loss of control.

The one difference was paramount, though. This time, he wasn't alone.

Jeff looked sideways at the older man, his face pulled with determination as he tried to wrangle control of his aircraft once more.

 _Let us be okay_ , Jeff thought. _Just let us be okay… By the power of God, a devil, whatever's out there, let us make it through…_

His breath came in shudders.

 _Lucy, if you can hear me, I need you right about now._

They went down, down, down. And then Jeff couldn't think or pray any more.

 **~oOo~**

John's hologram appeared in Scott's face.

" _Incoming vessel!_ "

His voice was tight. The lines around his blue face were pulled.

"I can see that, Thunderbird Five," Scott said. "It's kinda hard to miss the giant glowing _thing_ right there!"

" _No, not that,_ " John said, shaking his head. " _It's Kayo._ "

Quick as a passing shadow, TBS swept into view, pulling up sharply beside the other One and the Hood's ship.

"Nice of you to join us," Scott said.

" _I can't let you guys have all the fun_ ," Kayo replied. " _Now let's see if I can't help get rid of this…filth_."

The venom in her voice made Scott's skin prickle. _I hate the Hood,_ he thought, _but Kayo_ really _hates the Hood. It's...strange._

" _Thunderbird One_ ," Kayo said. " _Disengage._ "

It took Scott a moment to register that she wasn't talking to him. There was a pause on the line.

" _Who's that?_ " the other Scott responded. " _And_ what's _that?_ "

"We don't have time to get into it right now," Scott replied. "Do as she says and disengage. We –"

The rest of his sentence was lost as the other vessel finally emerged from the portal. And, as always, it started to go down. Scott's mind was only on one thing. Everything else fell away.

"Virgil, do your thing!" he said.

" _F.A.B.!_ " came the reply.

 **~oOo~**

"No, no, _no_!"

The Hood – Mardochaios – slammed his fists on the bulkhead and threw his head back, screeching his displeasure.

The strange Thunderbird One had shot out his engines. The plane stuttered and listed to one side. He knew what was coming. They were about to go down.

Then, to add insult to grave injury, _she_ turned up.

"Tanusha," the Hood ground out. "Just to make things that _little_ more painful."

There was nothing he could do this time. He didn't have a choice. Vulnerable, in danger of an icy death in the depths of the sea below, there was no opportunity to manipulate her. No opportunity to bring her around to his side.

" _Hand yourself over_!" his niece's voice boomed through the comm. " _It's over_."

"It's not over until I say it's over," the Hood said. "And I'm never one to give up – not even on a _lost cause_."

He hoped the weight of his meaning carried more than what just words could. _I will have you back, Tanusha_ , he thought. _Not only you, but Jeff Tracy, his sons, his Thunderbirds – ALL Jeff Tracys and their machines, no matter where and when. I will have it_ all _!_

The deck below him shifted. His stomach churned. They began their ragged descent.

Perhaps, though, today was not the day for his victory.

Raising his comm. device, the Hood snapped out orders.

"Get me out of here!"

As the plane began to plummet, one of the other vessels approached. Within a few seconds, he had been extricated by his loyal henchmen – but leaving once crucial piece behind.

Opening a channel to the whole assemblage, the Hood snarled.

"This won't be my last day on Earth," he said, "but unless International Rescue does its job, it'll be _his_ last day!"

Giving a command with a hand gesture, the pilot nodded – then he opened fire on the other plane. On one of his own.

"Goodbye, International Rescue," the Hood purred. "This won't be the last time we meet, I'm sure."

 **~oOo~**

It all happened so fast. Just as he'd ordered Thunderbird Two to rescue the strange plane, the Hood had turned on one of his own – in the worst way possible.

"Brains!" Scott said. "I need to move!"

" _J-just a few more seconds, S-Scott._ "

"They don't have seconds!" he barked. "I need to get to that plane!"

" _I'm on it, Scott_ ," another voice said.

Scott grinned.

" _Kayo!_ "

Light a bolt of lightning, Thunderbird Shadow hurtled towards the stricken and smoking craft. It twisted through the air, leaving macabre contrails of black in its wake. Scott felt as though there was a chafing rope around his wrists, stilling his action. He needed to move. He needed to _do_. And all he would do was watch.

Thunderbird Two moved in to secure the antique plane.

Thunderbird Shadow swept down, rescuing the abandoned henchman.

And Thunderbird One?

 _Well,_ _at least one of us is doing something…_ Scott thought.

The other One, seeing the Hood's attempts to escape aboard the other aircraft, rolled downward. Scott watched as the Hood's ship banked and twisted, then let out a barrage of fire from under-wing guns. They struck the sleek silver of One.

Scott's heart twisted. It didn't matter that it wasn't his vessel. It was still _One_.

" _I'm not going down that easy_ ," the other Scott said.

Dropping altitude, he moved towards the other aircraft – but something went wrong.

From the lilt of the ship, Scott knew that the bullets had found a critical system. Smoke began to pour from the tarnished pockmarks, and One lumbered to the side, striking the Hood's plane with her wings.

" _Oh, n-no!_ " Brains stuttered over the comm.

"I know!" Scott replied.

As it turned out, they weren't talking about the same thing at all.

The portal began to flicker and writhe, a strange rip in the sky that danced to no tune at all. It changed shape, warping from circular to jagged and back again.

Struck by the fuselage of the bigger ship, the Hood's plane jolted to the side. Out of control, it twisted. It dived.

It swept right through the portal.

" _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_!"

The Hood's voice was of fire and anguish.

Then, in a blinding flash, the rip closed. The sky was sewn back together.

And the ship?

Gone.

Scott blinked.

"What the _hell_?"

 **~oOo~**

After everything, there was only one logical response. At least, as far as Gordon was concerned. He'd been ripped through the fabric of space and time (or something), had been held at gunpoint, and had jumped out of a plane with no parachute. Thus, the reasonable thing to do was to collapse in a heap on the floor. That was precisely what he did.

"Whoa there, par'dner," the other man said, dropping to his knees at Gordon's side. "Steady. You're alright now. We gotcha."

Even with his lungs struggling to fill, Gordon managed a chuckle.

"Th-that's usually _my_ mine," he said.

The other man – the other _Gordon_ – went about rearranging his jumbled limbs, even as Thunderbird Two dipped in the air.

"Well, we all have bad days," he said as he propped his patient's feet up on the bulkhead. "I didn't catch your name, by the way."

"I didn't throw it," Gordon said, his voice thin. Blood began to return to his head and he chuckled again. "You're not going to believe it if I tell you."

"Oh, I dunno," the other man said as he reached for the medkit on the wall, "I've seen some pretty weird things in my time – and not even just today!" He paused as he picked out a thin machine, something akin to a tablet, and waved it over Gordon's body. "You seem to be okay. Just a little shaken – not that I blame you!"

Shaking his head and trying to rise – immediately regretting it – Gordon grunted.

"Well, prepare yourself to be shaken," he said, "because my name's Gordon Tracy, too."

The younger man blinked. He set the tablet down with deliberate slowness. Then he sat on his haunches, his hands flat on his thighs.

"Well, great googly moogly," he breathed. He narrowed his eyes, as if drinking in every detail of the older man's face. "Oh, boy… I think _I'm_ the one who needs to lie down, now."

Gordon gestured to the deck plates.

"There's plenty of room."

The other Gordon threw his head back and laughed – a light yet deep sound that warmed Gordon to his core.

" _Gordon, you there?_ " a voice asked.

Wiping tears of mirth, the other Gordon activated his comm.

"We're here," he said. "Took ya long enough."

There was a brief pause. Both Gordons' brows furrowed.

"Virg?" the blond asked. "What's wrong?"

Another pause. When the voice spoke again, it sounded shell-shocked.

" _I was… Another ship came through the portal. And… I think you'd better hear it for yourself_."


	27. Chapter 27

Mayhem. That was the only way to describe it. John lingered at Grandma Tracy's shoulder, watching events pan out in pixel form, listening to the impossible on the desk-comm.

"Those are _my_ brothers' voices," he whispered. "That's _my_ Scott. And, _my_ Gordon!"

At his side, Elijah nodded. Lyra lingered under the touch of her _dadaí's_ good hand. His other arm was still strapped in a sling.

"That's them," he said. His voice wavered. "Does that mean… Does it mean we can get home?"

"I hope so," John replied.

Grandma Tracy manipulated the holo-globe as Thunderbird Shadow and Thunderbird Two leapt after different ships. Then the Hood's ship was on One's tail.

 _"I'm not going down that easy."_

The voice was unmistakable in its timbre and determination.

"That's my bro," John said.

The icons collided – and then the Hood's ship vanished. Gone. Grandma Tracy's hands stilled. Then she opened a channel to Thunderbird Five.

"John, what's happening?" she asked. "I think my globe's damaged. One of the ships is gone."

" _It's not damaged, Grandma_ ," came the reply. " _The Hood's ship is…gone. Through the portal, I think._ "

"Well, good riddance," Grandma said. "He's a no-good, dirty-rotten bas–"

" _Mom, please_ ," came a new voice. " _We have company_."

Grandma went still as stone. Her hands didn't move, poised where they had been. John watched as blood drained from her face. Then the shakes came.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

He received no response. Instead, Grandma stood, the chair wheels rattling on the wooden floor.

"Jeff?" she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Jeff… It _can't_ be!"

" _It's me, Mom_ ," came the reply. The man sounded tired, like he'd been travelling for a thousand years. " _It's really me._ "

There was nothing but the faint hum of static on the line for a moment. Then, everything exploded.

" _Dad_!"

Five voices were unified in a harmony of disbelief.

"Son?" Grandma asked, her eyes filling. "My Jeff?"

There was a chuckle, warm and somehow familiar.

" _Yes_. _Your Jeff._ "

For a moment, Grandma Tracy was still again. Then her knees gave way, and John caught her as she fell. She hadn't fainted. She was simply stunned.

"Easy," John said, wincing as his still-healing ribs protested. "Sit down again."

"My son," Grandma murmured. She looked up. She blinked. Then she smiled. " _My son!_ "

 **~oOo~**

There they were. The only remaining members of International Rescue. Virgil stared at the empty desk. The empty couch. The empty eyes of the remainder of the crew. _His_ crew, now.

Himself. Tin-Tin. Brains. Alan in Five. Matthew. That was it. By default, he was in charge – but it was the last thing in the world he wanted. He'd never wanted to take the helm. That was a job for his father, for Scott. But not for Virgil. He was a man of action, a man who desired to be in the thick of things, not stuck behind a desk. _But I don't have a choice, now_ , he thought. _I guess by default, it falls to me…_

He and Matthew were still in their uniforms, filthy from the earthquake and subsequent fires. Tin-Tin was leaning into Brains's arm, one hand resting on her belly, tears in her eyes. Alan's portrait stared across at them, motionless. Matthew sat with his head in his hands, bereft.

It was a feeling Virgil knew all too well.

"Oh Virgil, what do we do?" Tin-Tin asked. "Your father, the boys… What do we do?"

Virgil looked from her, to Scott's portrait, and then back to his father's desk. He took a deep breath. There was only one response.

"We do what we have to do," he replied. "We do our jobs. We respond to rescues. And we hope to God that they'll come back."

Still tearful, Tin-Tin nodded.

A new voice warmed the lounge.

"Your father would be so proud of you, Virgil."

It was Grandma, complete with a tray of fresh coffee and snacks. Matt was on his feet and took the burden from her before she could protest. She gave him a playful smack on the behind as he laid the tray on the coffee table.

"You'd think I was a hundred years old," she groused.

That elicited a chuckle, and Virgil was grateful for the lightening of the atmosphere. As the small group took their share of the provisions, Virgil sat with his elbows on his knees, trying to smile.

"We'll get through this," he said. The words were as much for himself as the others. "We'll get them all back – John, Elijah, Scott, Gordon, Dad. We have to."

Brains swallowed a bite of muffin and chased it with a swing of coffee.

"I-I've has some success with calculations for what I th-think will hold the portal open. But, even if we c-can open it, we would need to decide what t-to do."

"Right, Brains," Tin-Tin said, settling into the nook of his arm again, cradling a cup. "We can't spare any more of us, otherwise, if there's an emergency situation, we might not be able to handle it."

"Right," Virgil replied. "It's a tough one. Not to mention the fact that Thunderbird Four is still in the hands of W.A.S.P." He glanced at Brains. "You and I will fly out and get her. You can pilot her better than I can." Then he sighed. "This is all such a mess…"

"It is," Grandma replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But that's life, Virgil. We make do with what we have. That's what your father does. That's what your Grandpa Grant did. And it's what we'll do. And we can only hope that the universe gives you a break from rescues until we get this mess sorted out."

Virgil placed a hand on hers, patting it gently.

"You're right, Grandma," he said. "You're absolutely right."

 **~oOo~**

"EOS, I need you to take over monitoring of Five's systems," John said.

He talked as he walked, striding towards the space elevator. EOS's camera zoomed overhead, her green LEDs blinking and twirling.

"Affirmative, John," she said. "I will look after Thunderbird Five while you see your father."

John's legs became leaden at that. He stopped, EOS sliding on ahead. Realising he wasn't following, she turned. Her LEDs flashed yellow.

"What is wrong, John?" she asked.

"I just…"

He couldn't find the words. This was something he never thought would happen. Deep down, in the pit of his belly, lingered his darkest secret… He'd thought his father was never coming back, in spite of the relentless searching, the obsessive plotting of marker points and possibilities. _I never thought he'd really be back. At least, not alive. And now…he is? I…I can't believe it._

"John Tracy."

EOS's voice was firm enough to make John's head snap up. Her LEDs were still yellow.

"Yes, EOS?"

There was a pause. Then her lights blinked white.

"Go home, John Tracy," she said softly. "I will be here when you return. If what you have taught me about friendship and family is true, you need to be on Earth. You must go to him."

Not stopping the smile that stretched his lips, John nodded and walked forward once more.

"You're right, EOS," he said. "I do need to go home." When he opened the airlock for the space elevator, he lingered, then turned back to her. "I will be back," he said. "I promise."

"I know you will, John Tracy," EOS replied. "Perhaps you might even manage a full _four_ days on Earth, this time."

John shook his head and wagged a finger at her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a sharp tongue?"

"Like AI, like programmer," EOS giggled.

John opened his mouth, then closed it again. He cocked an eyebrow, grinning wider.

"I can't argue with that," he said. "Hold the fort for me, please."

"F.A.B." came EOS's reply.

With that, John took his seat in the space elevator. The door slid closed with a metallic _clink_. The little craft whirred with its final preparations. Then, he was falling to Earth.

Where his father was.

"Dad's home," John whispered.

The words were those he never thought he'd say. As it turned out, they were the sweetest words he'd ever spoken.

 **~oOo~**

As the island swung into view, Jeff's throat filled with a lump he couldn't shift.

"I'm home," he murmured. "I'm actually home."

The other, older Jeff, still at the controls of the ancient aircraft, gave a gruff grunt – but there was an edge of affection to it.

"I hope you have a runway down there," he said, "because I need one to land this thing."

Jeff responded, but the words were forgotten immediately after he spoke them. Everything was in a daze, a strange whirl of reality and fiction that he couldn't get straight in his head. _I'm home. I'm back to my boys… To Mom. To everyone. I'm actually_ home.

He couldn't recall the order in which the Thunderbirds docked. He couldn't remember what they did with the _other_ Thunderbird One. His first coherent memory was of the screech of tyres on the runway, and his brain snapped back to reality with the jolt of the plane on the tarmac.

He was out of the safety restraints before they stopped. The other Jeff released the hatch the second after the plane came to a rest.

All Jeff could do was breathe.

He inhaled the heady scent of his island home, tinged with the saltiness of the South Pacific. He felt the heat of a southern hemisphere evening, and listened to the hum of insects around him – and, deep within the island, the whirr of powering down engines. No outsider could guess what the sound was, but Jeff knew. He knew the sounds of all of his craft. He knew them as well as the heartbeats of his own sons.

Forgoing the steps that unfurled at his feet, Jeff leapt down, his eyes scanning for familiar faces.

Then he saw a thin figure, a grey head bobbing on a purple body.

Not thinking anymore, he broke into a run.

"Mom!"

"Jeff! Oh, Christ, _Jeff_!"

When they met, it was like two stars colliding. Jeff swept his mother off her feet, spinning her around like she was made of nothing but air. She pressed uncountable kisses on his face, his arms, his shoulders, and it felt that like moment would never end. Mother and son, reunited at long last.

When they finally broke apart, her face was red, her eyes streaming. Jeff knew his was something of the same.

"Mom, I'm home," he whispered.

His mother reached out to pass her thumbs over his cheekbones, as if testing to see if he was _real_.

"You're home," she said. "You're really home!"

" _Dad_!"

Jeff looked up at that. At what he saw, the tears that threatened to fall did spill. He couldn't hold it in. Reluctantly releasing his mother, he was running again – and this time, it was his youngest that he embraced.

"Alan!" Jeff said. He lifted his youngest clear off his feet, not caring that the boy was no boy, but a teenager. It didn't matter. None of that mattered. "I can't believe it. My god, look how much you've grown in such a short time!"

Alan's response was muffled by the fabric of Jeff's borrowed clothing. He stepped back, holding Alan at arm's length.

"You must've sprouted an inch and a half!"

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Alan grinned.

"Yeah, well maybe it's you who's getting shorter, Pops," he quipped. Then his face fell. "Nah, that's not it. 'Cuz that would mean I wasn't getting any shorter – and I _will_ be taller than Gordon!"

Sweeping Alan into another bear-hug, Jeff laughed. It was a deep sound that came from the depths of his soul, the sort of laugh he feared he'd never give again.

"Sure you will, sport," he said, not resisting the urge to grind his knuckles into the top of his youngest's scalp.

A cough from behind grabbed their attention. Jeff turned and smiled. The alternate Jeff stood beside his not-mother, who was regarding him with a strange look.

Jeff chuckled and slung an arm around Alan's shoulders. He couldn't stop himself. _I'm almost afraid that if I let go, this will turn out to be one awful nightmare…and I'll be gone._ Shaking the fears aside, he grinned.

"Jeff, meet my youngest son, Alan. Alan, meet… Well, meet Jeff."

The older man stepped forward, offering an arm. Alan looked from his father to the other man, his eyebrow raised so far, it was almost in his hairline.

"Oooo-kay," he said. Reluctantly, he accepted the handshake. "This is, what I would term, _super_ weird."

"Tell me about it," the other Jeff said.

"Y'know," Grandma interrupted, "you are the spitting image of my great-uncle Harrison," she said. "Down to the salt-and-pepper hair and the grey eyes."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jeff said. "I guess I can't hide from my age anymore, considering I'm a grandfather."

"Preach it," Grandma said. Then she clicked her fingers. "And you know, I think I know of a little girl who's been pining for her Grandpa – not to mention two worried daddies, too."

Jeff paled.

"John?" he said. "Is John here?"

"He sure is," Alan said, leaning into his father's embrace. "And he told me a lot about you. Is it true that you were the first man on the moon, and not Neil Armstrong?"

Jeff chuckled again and tapped his chin.

"Neil Armstrong? Never heard of him. Yes, I was the first man on the moon." He gestured to Jeff. "You mean pipsqueak here wasn't."

Aghast, the younger Jeff scoffed.

"Who're you calling pipsqueak, old man?"

"Oh, old man is it? Well you're –"

"Boys!" Grandma said, stepping in between them, though it was clear the banter was playful. "You can lambast each other later. Right now, there are more reunions to be made. Now shut up and follow me, before I knock your heads together."

Alan giggled behind his hand.

"You guys are in trouble," he said.

Grandma pinned him with a glare.

"Don't make me offer you a cookie," she said.

Alan snapped his mouth shut, miming a zipper closing. Both Jeffs laughed in unison. Then, together, they followed Grandma Tracy back towards the villa.

Jeff swallowed.

Towards _home_.


	28. Chapter 28

John couldn't sit. He couldn't stand. He couldn't settle. Flitting about like a trapped moth, he paced the lounge until something small stopped him.

"Daddy, sit down!"

John blinked and looked down. Lyra stood with her arms folded and her left foot tapping. Her lips were pinched with a scowl.

"You're making me dizzy with your walking around!" she continued.

"Aw, sweetheart, I'm sorry," John said, reaching down to kiss the crown of her head. "I'm just so pleased that Grandpa and Uncles Scott and Gordon have come to get us."

Irritation banished, Lyra broke away, running in circles.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! I can't wait to see my Grandpa!"

From the sunken couch, Elijah grunted, but he was smiling.

"Now _she's_ making _me_ dizzy."

John chuckled and padded to him, ruffling his curls. Lyra kept on running.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! Grandpa!" she chanted.

"Yes, honey?"

Everything stopped. Together, John and Elijah and Lyra turned.

Together, they grinned.

"Grandpa!"

"Dad!"

"Mr Tracy!"

Lyra hurtled across the floor, twin braids flying in her wake. She launched herself into her grandfather's arms, burying her face in his chest.

"Grandpa!" she said, her voice high-pitched with emotion. "I missed you so much! Like, even more than I missed anyone else!"

Tears glittered in Jeff's eyes as he pulled his only granddaughter tight.

"I missed you too, sweetie," he said into her hair. "More than you'll know."

"Hey!" a new voice sounded. "What goes on here? You mean you missed _him_ more than you missed _me_?"

Figures unfurled from behind Jeff, all Tracys, some more related than others. The older Scott crossed his arms and pulled his face into a mock-scowl.

"I thought _I_ was the favourite," he said.

"Uncle Scott!" Lyra cried.

She reached for him, and he scooped her into his arms, spinning her in the air.

"That's my girl!"

John surreptitiously wiped at his eyes, pretending to adjust his glasses. When he could see again, his father was striding towards him, arms outstretched.

"Son," Jeff said, voice thick.

John needed to wipe his eyes again.

" _Dad_."

The two men embraced, and the room fell away. For a moment that felt never-ending, John clung to his father, pressing his face into the older man's shoulder, knocking his glasses askew.

"God, Dad," he murmured. "It happened again…"

Grunting to clear his throat, Jeff pulled back and took a light hold of John's left ear.

"Son, you are officially banned from leaving my sight ever again," he said.

They shared a laugh and another embrace, before they turned at the sound of a further voice.

"Hey, where's _my_ hug, huh?"

John didn't think his grin could get any wider, but he was wrong. His cheeks burned with pleasure.

" _Gordon_!" he said.

Jogging across to his younger brother, he joined in the embrace as Gordon pulled Lyra from a begrudging Scott. Gordon chuckled, the sound rich, and planted a lip-smacking kiss on his brother's forehead. His flight suit crinkled between them.

"Would you stop disappearing?" he said. "You're turning into a one-trick-pony!"

"Sorry, Gords," John said, shrugging. "I never mean for any of this stuff to happen."

"I know, bro, I know. I'm just so glad to see you again."

Another set of arms wrapped around them all, and John turned to see Scott beaming at them, squeezing them tight.

"It's good to see you again, fella," he said.

He was still in his uniform, his hat slightly askew.

"You too, Scott."

"Stop scaring me like that," Scott replied. "Maybe it was better when you were stuck up on Five. At least I didn't have to worry about you so much!"

"Don't worry," John said. "I don't think I'll be allowed to leave the island ever again," John said.

The brothers broke apart, and Jeff clapped each on the shoulder.

"My sons," he said.

He passed them, though, and descended to the couch area. Elijah was on his feet, and reached a hand out for a handshake. Instead, Jeff pulled him into a brief hug.

"My future son-in-law," he said.

Eli returned the embrace as best he could with his one good arm.

John couldn't articulate what the scene and the words meant. More than the moon and the stars. More than the heavens themselves. To see his father embrace Elijah that way… It meant more than words could say.

"Thank you, Mr Tracy," Elijah said.

"It's Jeff, boy. My name is Jeff, and you'd better get used to calling me that."

A light pink spread across Eli's fine cheekbones. Lyra extricated herself from the clump of uncles and skipped towards her grandfather.

"Actually," she said, "your name is _Grandpa_."

That sent a wave of chuckles through the room. Elijah even smiled.

"Sweets, I don't think I can call your grandpa 'Grandpa'," he said. "I might get fired."

"You're darn right," Jeff growled.

He tipped Eli a wink, and the Tracys laughed anew.

Of course, theirs was not the only reunion. The other Scott, Virgil and Gordon appeared from the direction of the hangars, suits hastily discarded and shirts half-buttoned or buttoned wrongly. Virgil struggled with his left boot, but hopped forward, grinning.

" _Dad_!" he said.

"Is it really you?" Gordon asked, trying in vain to get his shirt on right.

The younger Jeff had Alan under his arm. He reached for the others, and when they came to him, they fell to their knees, a winding knot of happiness and relief, as finally, _finally_ , Jeff Tracy was home.

"My boys," Jeff whispered. "My _boys_."

 **~oOo~**

The euphoria was palpable. It took two Jeffs and a very persuasive Grandma to usher the various Tracys off to bed. How much sleep was had, however, was debatable.

Eventually, as dawn stretched its pale fingers across the sky, the early risers emerged.

Four men with only two names between them.

The younger Scott greeted the morning with a run, as he always did. Pounding along the bronze sand, his legs could have gone on forever. The grains sang beneath his sneakers. _Dad's home! Dad's home!_ Along the shoreline, the sea whispered in an eternal cadence. _He's back... He's back..._

Scott's smile stretched longer than the miles of beach. As the heady scent of a tropical morning rose, thick and sweet, he gulped in a huge breath.

Then he let it out.

"Dad's _home_!"

Birds scattered from the treetops, squawking their discontent. But Scott didn't care.

When he returned to the villa, he found he wasn't he only one awake. He wasn't even the only _Scott_ awake. He found his older compatriot wandering around the kitchen, trailing his fingertips along the countertops, looking simultaneously amazed and overwhelmed. He was older, yet the vulnerability of being out of place brought a strange youth to him.

Blue eyes met blue eyes. One smile greeted another.

Grabbing the towel he had laid out earlier, the younger Scott scrubbed his face, then slung it around his neck.

"Good morning," he said. It was as if he was greeting an ordinary houseguest. "Did you sleep well?"

The words felt clumsy, like an ill-fitting pair of shoes. They would do, but they didn't feel right. What was the correct way to greet someone who wasn't you, and yet…was.

"I must have passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow," the older Scott replied. He looked down, plucking at his borrowed clothing. "I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like Dorothy – or maybe Toto!"

The levity broke the tension, and the Scotts chuckled in unison.

"Well, I bet there's something I can do to make you feel more comfortable," the younger said. "I assume you drink coffee in your universe?"

The other man's brow smoothed. He spread his hands in an easy gesture, and sat at the kitchen table.

"Absolutely," he said. "I probably drink too much of the stuff."

"Same," the younger said. "I guess some things don't change."

"Right."

As Scott opened a cupboard, grasping the smoothness of the coffee jar, a thousand questions rocked through his mind. _I wish I could ask them all!_ he thought. _Where were you born? What's your middle name? How did you do in school? How...how do you_ feel _?_

As he doled out the coffee grounds, levelling the scoops, he caught the other Scott's eye. He paused. His mouth went dry. He tried to swallow.

Then he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not entirely sure _why_ I'm sorry, but I am."

"I understand," the older man said. "Things are...strange."

Nodding, Scott flicked on the kettle. He sat across from his counterpart.

"It took John – _your_ John – quite some time to acclimatise," he said. "From what I've gathered, your world is very different from ours."

Chuckling, the older man leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know much about this place," he said, lacing his hands behind his head, "and I'm not sure I want to know. No offence, but I don't plan on sticking around as long as Johnny has."

"I think he's ready to go home, too," Scott said. "Both he and his fiancé. And that adorable little kid."

At the mention of his niece, the older Scott's eyes lit up.

"She truly is adorable," he said. "A real little star. I've…I've missed her."

The conversation trailed off. The kettle bubbled and flicked off, and soon enough, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the kitchen.

Just as Scott plunged the French Press, a third presence entered. He smiled, grateful for the company.

"Hey, John," he said. "Pull up a pew."

The redhead paused at the sight of the older Scott, his green eyes flickering with calculations. After a moment, he slid in at the table beside the younger Scott.

"You don't pull up pews," he said. "I think you're confusing the phrases 'pull up a chair' and 'grab a pew'–"

As he spoke, he reached for one of the porcelain mugs – orange with a yellow stripe – but Scott batted his hand away.

"Nothing breakable for you," he said. Instead, he fetched a plastic beaker. "You know the rules."

Rolling his eyes, John held his hand out for it.

"I really think this is unnecessary," he said.

"And I really think that if I have to order any more mugs, I'll go insane," Scott replied. "I can't even count how many you've smashed."

The older Scott, who had been watching the interchange, eyed John with one raised brow.

"Clumsy?" he asked.

"Yes," Scott replied.

Frowning, John shook his head.

"I prefer the term 'gravity-challenged,'" he replied. At the older Scott's look of confusion, he clarified. "I spend a lot of time in zero-g," he said. "Sometimes on earth, I forget that things don't float when I let go of them."

Scott chuckled as he poured the coffee.

"One of our biggest expenditures when Clumsy McSpace is at home is on crockery."

"Rude," John replied, his expression sour.

Then the three men chuckled, the tension breaking. As they sipped their drinks, a fourth voice joined them.

"And they say _blonds_ have more fun. From where I'm standing, the grey, the brunette, and th redhead camps are having plenty."

Scott nodded in greeting at the older John. He smiled as his counterpart rose to embrace his brother.

"Don't kid yourself, Kid," the older Scott said, clapping the blond John's back. "You're greyer than I am."

"I don't go grey," John said. "I go white."

The younger Scott quirked an eyebrow and plucked up the cup he had denied to his brother. Grinning, he filled it and passed it across the blonde John, much to the redhead's disdain.

"Oh, so that's the way it is," his brother said. "I see where we stand."

The blond tipped his counterpart a wink and shrugged.

"I don't get to hang out in zero-g," he said. "I wish I did. I have to have some kind of recompense – even if it's just the privilege of a ceramic mug."

Redhead John stilled at the levity. His eyes narrowed slightly. Scott only noticed as he knew his brother so well. In the split-second, he waited. His brother's enmity for the older John was obvious.

The moment passed and the redhead's lips quirked.

"To be honest, I'll take my space station over the use of a mug any day." He smile spread. "Any from what you've told me, your station is a real hunk of junk."

"How dare you!" the blond said, pressing a hand to his heart. "I am _mortally_ offended."

The table broke into laughter again. Feeling a strange weight lift from his shoulders, Scott grinned and refilled his mug. The four sat in the brightening morning, shooting the breeze. He sat back and listened to the jostling of Tracys that were not his brothers.

The words earlier may have felt clumsy, but current feelings were easier to comprehend. At first, the awkwardness had been uncomfortable, a prickling like pins and needles. As the time went on, things changed. They morphed like clay, moulded into something new. Something...right.

 _It's weird_ , he thought. _It's like meeting up with long-lost cousins. It was strange. But now? It feels...right._

Truly, it did.


	29. Chapter 29

"Thunderbirds are go!"

With a clunk, the wall panel began to turn. Gordon grinned. Just as in his own universe, the younger Scott rotated, clutching wall sconces, and disappeared from the lounge. Shaking his head, feeling a thousand years old, Gordon turned his attention to the up-ending of the younger Virgil as he prepared for launch, too.

"I'm used to seeing Scott and Virgil go," he said, "but never looking so young and fresh!"

The older Scott's fist connected with his bicep, and Gordon stuck out his tongue.

"I'm just telling the truth!"

"Well, some truths don't need to be told," Scott groused. He folded his arms again, his eyes glimmering with a combination of pride and envy. "I already feel like a fossil compared to all these whipper-snappers."

"And now you know how I feel," their father chimed in.

A peel of laughter drifted through the lounge, though the holographic display that lit their faces blue dulled the jubilation. The redheaded John was manipulating the globe, while their father – Jeff the Younger, as the Gordons had dubbed him – manned operations from his desk.

 _Too_ weird, Gordon thought. _Too strange to see Scott go and yet have him still here. Much as I love these guys, I need to get home. I need to get back to my life. My…love._

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Gordon scratched at his too-stubbly chin and raised an eyebrow.

"Anyone know where a guy could find a razor around here?" he asked.

Scott managed to pry his eyes from the now bereft wall.

"I was going to say, Gordon. You do like a little rough around the edges."

"And you don't?"

"Well," Scott said, raking his hands through dark hair that was greying at the temples, "some of us look _good_ when we look rough. I'm ruggedly handsome. You look like hell."

"Oh, thanks," Gordon said, rolling his eyes. But a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

During the exchange, his younger compatriot had popped up from his seat. The younger Gordon was all round eyes and ridiculous shirt, with a smile that stretched for miles.

"You can borrow mine," he said, palming his bare face. "It's not like I need it much."

Clapping the kid on his shoulder, Gordon pasted on a grin.

"Thanks. Show me where?"

In a few minutes, Gordon found himself in a room that could have been his own, but wasn't. The walls were plastered with maps, images, and posters relating to everything about the ocean. There were press releases on new discoveries, about adventurers off to explore the unknown depths, not to mention the myriad of photographs.

As the younger man dipped into the bathroom, the whirr of the extractor fan starting up with the fluorescent white light, the older Gordon stepped towards a dresser decorated with frames.

Many contained SCUBA shots of the young man underwater, grinning from behind his mask, the sunshine of his face illuminating the water. Others were of him as a teenager, proudly displaying medal after medal in various swimming galas. _But no shot at the Olympics_ , Gordon thought. _I wonder if he ever went_.

Beside the youngster in every victorious picture were a pair of beaming faces. _Jeff the Younger_ , Gordon thought. His mouth went dry. _And that must be their mom…_

She was a dark-haired beauty, with an easiness to her stance that warmed Gordon to his core. _She's not my mom, and yet she is. She doesn't look like my mom, but she looks enough like their Virgil to make me_ think _she's my mom… Weird._

"It's dumb, huh?"

Gordon whirled around. The younger man had his broad hands in his pockets.

"What?"

"It's dumb to keep pictures up of such tiny achievements up for so many years, right? Especially in comparison to some of the stuff you've done. I mean, an Olympic gold! That's epic!"

"Oh, I get ya," Gordon said. His brief smile cooled. "But I don't agree. I don't think it's dumb to keep pictures like that up. In fact, I think it's real important."

"You do?"

The sudden vulnerability made Gordon plant a hand on the younger man's shoulders.

"Why, sure," he said. "If it means something important, why shouldn't you keep it up? Heck, I got my gold medal at sixteen. Sooner than I'd like to admit, that'll be fifteen years ago."

Leading the older man to the bathroom, younger Gordon shook his head.

"That's different, though," he said. "To swim at the Olympics is huge. I never even went international."

Beside the sink was a razor and all its accoutrements – everything of a brand Gordon didn't recognise. He plucked up the gel foam, spread it across his face, and set to work.

"It doesn't matter what you _didn't_ do," he said, the words awkward with the distorting of his mouth as he shaved his upper lip. "What matters is what you _did_ – or _do_ – do. And as part of IR, you're doing a hell of a lot more than most other people in the world."

Perched on the edge of the bathtub, Gordon nodded. He picked at the leather bracelet on his wrist.

"I guess so," he said. Then his sadness was gone in a blink. "So, tell me about yourself. Are you married? Have kids?"

The razor stopped. Gordon met his parallel's eyes through the mirror.

"I'm not married, no," he said. Slowly, he set to shaving again. "And I have no kids, though I do have a partner who acts like a kid sometimes. Between him and Lyra and my other nephew, Adam – plus another one on the way – I have enough kids in my life. Can't say I want any more." He dipped the razor in the water, sending out ripples. "What about you? Got a love interest?"

The younger man's face pinkened. _Bingo_ , Gordon thought.

"There is this girl," he said. "Well, not so much girl as _lady_. But it's not really a 'Thing'."

Halfway through his shave, Gordon quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you want it to be a 'Thing'?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," the younger man said, palming the back of his head. "I'd love that, but I don't think it'll work out. What with my job and her job, and being from different backgrounds, and there's a bit of an age difference… I dunno. I just can't see it happening, even though it'd be so awesome."

"Well, if you want to make it happen, make it happen," Gordon said. "What's the worst that can happen? Rejection sucks, but it does get better. Sometimes it's better to get it over with, just like ripping off a Band-Aid, than living with the 'should-I-shouldn't-I' stuff."

"You're a pretty wise old guy."

Rolling his eyes, Gordon slipped the razor over the last section of his stubble.

"I prefer the term _experienced_ ," he said. "But it's true. You should think about it."

"Y'know, I will," the younger Gordon said. "I really will."

As the water drained away, whirling down the plughole, Gordon licked his lips. _It's torture living without the person you love_ , he thought. _I've only been gone for a short time, but I already need to be back home with Matt. Without Elijah or me, I can only imagine how he's feeling…_

 **~oOo~**

The gods were feeling kindly, or at least, that was Virgil's interpretation. Things had been quiet, though by no means dead. There'd been a fire in Mexico, a tunnel collapse in Nepal, but thankfully, the diminished company had been able to handle it. Surviving on minimal sleep and more coffee than was healthy, Virgil had steered them through – though he hadn't relished the experience. _Boy, will I be glad to hand the reins back off again…_

The sun set on the second day since Scott, Gordon, and the Jeffs had gone through the looking glass. Two long, long days. Brains had been holed up for the entire time, scouring through W.A.S.P. data and readouts from Thunderbird One, desperately trying to unravel the mystery surrounding the portal. _Unless we can open it, there's no way we can find out where they've gone_ , Virgil thought. _But there's no way in hell I'm giving up. We will get them back. We have to_.

Unfortunately, no amount of positive thinking could truly stitch the gaping wound they'd been left with. The island was too quiet, bereft of its vitality. The buzz of conversation was gone. The constant, well-intentioned threat of a prank was non-existent. The silence was interminable.

That was half the reason Virgil found himself on the monorail to the Cliff House apartments. It was near midnight, and his grandmother, Kyrano, Tin-Tin and Adam were all in their respective beds. Brains was brain-deep in research. There was only so much solo desk-sitting a guy could do. From the darkness beneath Matthew's eyes on the last rescue, it was clear he wasn't sleeping. Hedging his bets, Virgil knew it was likely he'd still be awake. Thus, off he went.

The other half of the reason was more complicated. It wasn't just the dark circles under Matt's eyes that was concerning. It was the brief sparkle of tears Virgil had seen too often on the last rescue mission. _I don't think he's coping_ , Virgil thought. _And that's not good. It's not safe. I need to see for myself what the situation is. Maybe I need to bring Alan down and put Five on auto…_

There was no answer when he rang the buzzer, but the apartment door wasn't locked.

As soon as he stepped inside, Virgil knew he'd been right. _This place stinks of liquor_ , he thought. _This is not good._

"Matthew?" he called.

No response.

Then there was a rustling of blankets, and a bleary-eyed redhead emerged from a pile on the sofa, curls sticking in every direction. There was a clunk as a bottle dropped and rolled under the coffee table.

"Birgil – Virgil, I mean," Matt slurred. "What c'n I do ya for? S'there a rescue?"

"You're damn lucky there isn't," Virgil said. He stepped forward, letting the door slide closed behind him. "What if there was? I'd have to handle the whole damn thing myself!"

He hadn't meant to snap quite so hard – a brief nip had been the intention – but his tone betrayed his stress. Matthew blinked and looked around, as if reality settled on his shoulders like a leaden cloak.

"Oh," he said. "Yerright. I've… I've been dumb… Dumb as always. Dumb, dumb Matthew."

Virgil's patience was stretched thin, but it was still unending. Having a clutch of younger brothers and an older one whose decision making skills weren't always… _sensible_ , had honed those skills. He took a deep breath, schooled his emotions, and sat on the couch beside the bereft redhead.

"You aren't dumb, Matthew," he said, "but you have made a bad decision. You're supposed to be on stand-by."

"I know, I know," Matt said, his body listing to the right. Virgil reached out and grabbed his shoulder to steady him. "S'just that, it's _hard_."

His words grew thick, but to his credit, even in his drunken stupor, he kept a lid on his emotions.

"I know," Virgil said, keeping the hand on his shoulder.

"I mean, was bad enough when Eli left me," Matt said. "Li-Li, he's _me_ , not just a part of me, but the _best_ part of me. An'… I don' really work without him, y'know?"

He turned his round green eyes on Virgil. They were shining again. Virgil nodded.

"I know."

He truly did. Without Scott, he felt like the best of him had been ripped out, too.

"So things were already _shit_ without Eli, but then Gordon disappeared and _I just don't wanna do this_." Composure cracking, tears tracked down his face, connecting his many freckles. "S'just that I don't really deal with bein' alone all that well," Matthew mumbled. "I've always had someone, mostly Li-Li, but even when I was in the army and the fire service and all that, I always had a buddy. A friend, someone who could fill up all the…the empty space."

Virgil quirked an eyebrow, and rubbed his hand in gentle circles on Matt's shoulder.

"What empty space?"

Matt sucked in a breath, and gave a discordant laugh. He brought up a hand, and sent a single finger jamming into the centre of his breastbone.

"All th' empty space in _here_ ," he said. "Cuz there's a lot of it, an' I'm not really good enough, an' I've never been, an' I just don't want to do this anymore."

Dissolving, he curled into himself, stifling his sobs against his knees. Virgil swallowed and transferred his hand to the other man's back.

"You are good enough," Virgil said. He tried to smile, tried to make the sound of reassurance loud enough to get through the haze of alcohol. "Gordon's not easily pleased, and if he's chosen you, that counts for something. He holds a lot of stuff to a gold standard, y'know?"

Matt tried to chuckle, though it didn't quite work.

"And Matt, you're good at lots of things," Virgil continued. "When you double-crew with me, I know I can always count on you. And when we're off-duty, I know I can still count on you for a joke or a laugh any time."

"S'not the case right now," Matt mumbled, breath hitching.

"No, it's not," Virgil said. "You've made a mistake. But we all make mistakes. I understand why you're in this…state, for want of a better word. I do get it."

"M'sorry, Virgil."

"I know you are," Virgil replied. "And you're going to be sorrier in the morning, unless we can get Brains to knock something together to sober you up and prevent the hangover of all hangovers. I need you on point and ready for action, Matt."

"Yessir."

Virgil shook his head.

"Don't call me sir," he said. "'Sir' is my father."

"Ugh," Matt groaned, winding his fingers into his curls. "Mr Tracy is gonna kill me when he finds out."

"Probably," Virgil said. He stood and offered his hand. He took most of Matthew's weight, and slung the other man's arm over his shoulder. "That is, _if_ he finds out. Maybe this is just a one-time thing between you and me. No-one else needs to know, unless you do it again. Deal?"

Matt turned his eyes to Virgil again. They were red-rimmed, set in dark circles. But there was something of his old smile in them.

"Deal," he said.


	30. Chapter 30

"S-so, by harnessing the p-power of neutrinos and—"

"Hold up, Brains," the younger Jeff said. Looking at the sea of faces in the sunken living area, very few understood most of the words the scientist was using. "Put in in as simple a way as possible."

Brains, flustered, shook his head. He took a deep breath, then started again. He looked directly at John—the redheaded version.

"I b-believe that by using Th-Thunderbird Five's computer systems, in addition to EOS and b-both mine and J-John's mathematical capabilities, we can navigate the complex math involved to open the portal to the m-multiverse again."

Redhead John frowned.

"But didn't Gordon— _their_ Gordon—say there was some kind of technology involved in opening the portal, or whatever it is."

"Y-yes," Brains continued. "And that's why I b-believe we n-need Thunderbird Five."

The older Jeff sat forward and gestured to his own John.

"If you need another mathematical brain, you've got one," he said. "I never met a kid who could crunch numbers as fast in his head."

Brains turned to the blond and smiled.

"W-would you be willing? You'd have to t-take a trip to our Thunderbird Five."

" _Would I?_ " The blond John's enthusiasm was immense. "I'd give up my right arm to get a look at that baby up there."

Both Jeffs looked at him, then at the redhead. He was far from impressed, but kept his lips shut in a tight line.

"Alright," the younger Jeff said. "That settles it. With three brains, a computer, and a state-of-the-art space station on our hands, we should be able to figure this out."

"Right," came the chorus of response.

The younger Scott stood and clapped a hand on the blond John's shoulder.

"Well, buddy," he said. "It's time to suit up."

John's face flushed with excitement, and he looked at Eli. He returned the beam.

"Go on," he said.

Standing, the blond John couldn't have looked more pleased. His redhead counterpart was…less so.

Then a light voice cut through the elation.

"I wanna go with Daddy!"

Lyra's pout was impressive. Elijah wrapped an arm around her bony shoulders in a cuddle.

"Not now, sweetheart," Eli said. "Maybe when we're home, Daddy'll take you to our Five on 'Take Your Child to Work Day.'"

Lyra's scowl deepened. She glared at John.

"Pinky promise?"

She thrust out a hand.

There was a peel of laughter as John bent down and hooked his smallest finger around hers.

"Pinky promise," he said. He straightened and turned to Scott. "So, where do I go?"

"I'd say follow John," the younger Scott said, "but it seems he's already gone."

Indeed, all they caught was the flash of a beige shirt disappearing around a corner. Grandma Tracy touched the small of the blond John's back.

"He's very protective of his station, dear," she said. "Don't take offense."

The blond chuckled.

"I can understand that," he replied. "I won't."

"Alright, follow me," Scott said. "I'll show you where you can get ready. And I'll make sure you get to Five safely."

"In the space elevator?" John asked.

Scott chuckled.

"No." He turned to grab Alan's attention. "What say we take our guest for a little spin in Thunderbird Three?"

Alan was out of his seat and bouncing before Scott finished his sentence.

"Yes!" he said. "You can tell me how it measures up to _your_ Three. Oh! And you can tell me more stories about the _Caduceus_."

Unable to stop himself, John ruffled Alan's hair.

"Sure," he said.

Chuckling, the group made their way off to Thunderbird Three's launch. In their wake, two fathers watched wistfully. A fiancé watched with pride.

Off in the space elevator, a redhead was _not_ impressed. Not one bit.

 **~oOo~**

" _Whoa_."

It was both the only emotional and logical response. John Tracy, dressed in a borrowed spacesuit, couldn't wrench his eyes from the view in the cockpit. Thunderbird Five was poised over the globe like a sparkling jewel, a tiny spider's web of cable pulling the mooring claw into place.

"I know, right?" Scott said.

The two brothers that were not his own sat in the front seats of the cockpit, while John took one of the seats at the back. The suit was one of Scott's, sans the sash, and a _tad_ tight around the middle. Brains's were too short in the leg, and John's were far too narrow in the waist. Scott's suit at least had the leg length, although the tightness in the abdomen reminded John of his younger days all the more than just looking at the other versions of his family.

"This is just… _incredible_ ," he said.

"Nothing beats Five, 'cept Three, of course," Alan said. Then his voice grew serious. "Thunderbird Five, permission to dock, please."

"Permission granted," came the curt reply.

John's face fell, his amazement dulled by his counterpart's brusqueness. Scott reached out to ensure the comm. was off, then turned around.

"Don't worry about him," he said. "John's just…"

" _John_ ," Alan finished. "He's very particular about what he likes and doesn't like. Five's his…uh." He looked to Scott. "How would you put it?"

"Sanctuary," Scott answered. "He finds it hard being in a house full of brothers. He much prefers his own space. And his station is kinda like…a home away from home."

"I understand," John replied, "although for me, it's entirely the opposite. I love my job—don't get me wrong on that. But I've always preferred being at home with my brothers, even when I was still single and not brok—"

He cut off, his words growing thick. Alan and Scott shared a look of concern.

"Anyway," John continued, "I'll stick to the mathematics and nothing more. Hopefully we'll have this licked sooner rather than later."

Docking procedures were in full swing by now. Eventually, John floated towards the airlock. When it opened, the face that greeted him was impassive.

"Welcome aboard," the other John said.

There was little welcome in his tone. John dipped his head in gratitude.

"I appreciate it," he said.

He might as well start off kind. It was no secret that the redhead John disliked him. _Well, I've dealt with a thousand worse things_ , he thought. _This'll just be a walk in the park…_

However, as the airlock cycled through and he found himself alone with just the other John and his AI, Thunderbird Three disappearing in the distance, there was a tightness in his throat. _Or maybe this will be just as hard as anything_ , he thought. _Maybe worse_ …

 **~oOo~**

The breakfast table was unearthly quiet. It was far from what Virgil had ever been used to. Tin-Tin was still in bed, the stress of everything on top of her growing pregnancy becoming too much to deal with. Grandma Tracy was diligently tending to her every need. It was just Kyrano at the stove, Brains, Virgil, and Matt at the table, mulling over cups of cooling coffee.

Matt didn't usually eat in the villa, but after the previous night's…events, Virgil had settled him to bed in Gordon's room. _After all, it's not like he's never slept there before. And I wanted to keep an eye on him._ Brains's miracle hangover cure had done an excellent job, but there was a pull of tiredness at the Irishman's eyes and a paleness to even his snow white skin that emphasised his discomfort. _Well,_ Virgil thought, _there's not a lot I can do about that…_

After a short time and a delicious smell, plates of eggs and bacon were delivered to the gathered men. Virgil picked up his fork, but didn't eat with his usual aplomb. _I need to check in with Alan this morning_ , he thought. _I haven't spoken to him since last night. I wonder if he's found anything…_ He nearly dropped his fork. Brains's eyebrows quirked; Virgil waved it off. _I wonder if there's anything he can find_.

"V-Virgil," Brains said. "Are you okay?"

Clearly the wave had done nothing.

"I'm okay, Brains," he replied. "Just worried, is all."

"So am I-I."

"And me too," Matt chipped in. "We're worrying enough for the whole of Oceania."

Virgil managed a light chuckle.

"Yeah. And with good reason."

"Aye," came the reply."

A new voice interjected.

"If I may say something?"

It was Kyrano, decked out in a chef's hat and apron—something he insisted upon wearing, even when there was no real need.

"Go ahead, Kyrano," Virgil said. "You don't need to ask."

"Worry is a natural thing," Kyrano said. "It is what you do with that worry that is important. Harness it and use it to your advantage. Make your worries worry their way through new avenues of thought."

Matt sat back, the bacon he was about to eat poised away from his mouth. Brans smiles. Virgil grinned.

"Y'know, Kyrano," he said, "you never cease to amaze me."

With a shallow bow, Kyrano returned to the stove. He gave no response, expect for a mild quirk of his lips.

 **~oOo~**

The atmosphere was cold, but it had nothing to do with the icy void of space that surrounded them. It dulled the shine of the experience of being on this amazing Thunderbird. John kept as silent as he could, working on his math, liaising with Brains when needed. The other John said nothing to him, and as for EOS… Well, the little camera _thing_ had it in for him, bumping into his head and scowling at him with red LEDs—if it was possible for a camera lens to scowl. _This is so uncomfortable_ , John thought. _I wish I'd thought more about this before I accepted the offer…_

The redhead was cool to the point of being rude, but there was little John could do about it. There was also no need to do anything. _If our collective minds are correct, we should be able to open one of those portals using some adjusted kit from Thunderbird Five_ , John thought. _If only we could get around these final few calculations…_

At that, one of the section doors whizzed open. EOS appeared. Her LEDS were her customary red—customary red for blond John, at least. They were always green for red John.

"You are required for sustenance," it— _she_ —said.

"To eat, or be eaten?" John replied.

The quip fell on deaf… _processors_? The camera turned around and slid back in the direction it had come from. John set aside the data he had been working on and sighed. _It's like cracking a joke to a stone_ , he thought. _Something the two of them have in common_ …

John followed the camera through the rotating section of Thunderbird Five, still fascinated by the centrifugal force they used to create artificial gravity. _It's an amazing system_ , he thought. _I'd love to talk about it with him, but…_ Of course, no conversation was forthcoming.

When he reached the galley, he sighed. Again with the bagels. John was already eating one. Blond John approached the dispenser, ready to ask.

Then a bagel whizzed out, hitting him full-sock in the face.

There was a moment of silence. Then there was laughter. Tinkling, childish, _vindictive_ laughter.

Brushing crumbs from his face, John turned. It was that damned computer! Her LEDS were green now. What was worst of all was that they matched the green in the mirth of redhead John's eyes.

No. This was not happening. John Eugene Tracy had not been through trauma upon trauma upon trauma to be mocked by a computer program and someone who was essentially a punk kid. He stepped forward, mustering all his fury. The camera shrank back. So did John.

"You know what?" the blond said. "I've done nothing to you. _Nothing_. Not a damn thing, and ever since I got here, all you've done is be cold and distant, and now you're setting your pathetic little pet on me. Do you know what I've been through in the past?" John asked. He was in full, red-faced flow now. Nothing could stop him. "Do you know why I have a daughter? Because I was violated. I had my freedom taken from me, my DNA, my sanity, _everything_ , taken from me by some selfish fool. And I'll be damned before I'll let you—whether you're a version of me or not—mock me, or let your stupid camera thing do it either. You are cruel—both of you. Now I'm going back to work. Leave me alone unless you have something relevant to say. That's all you've ever done, anyway."

Had it been a cartoon, steam would have been rising from John's ears. But it wasn't a cartoon. Instead, tears beaded behind his glasses. He turned. He fled. He hoped they hadn't been seen.


	31. Chapter 31

"EOS, you shouldn't have done that."

John felt a fool for saying it. A hypocrite, even. He had laughed at her antics, because he had truly enjoyed seeing the glasses-wearing, blond version of himself being pelted with a bagel. Not just because it had happened to him so long before, but because everything about the other man rubbed John the wrong way. His manner, his interaction with _John's_ brothers—not his own, _John's_ —the stories he told, everything down to the way he wore the borrowed shirts. He hated it all.

But then he didn't. Because in that moment where the other John had shown his dark side. He'd shown the red, pulsating anger underneath, the hatred at being laughed at, it had been like looking in a mirror.

And then the only one John hated was himself.

"Well," EOS replied, petulant, "he deserved it. I don't like him, John. He's pretending to be you and he's pretending to have problems."

Anger flaring, John rallied on the little camera.

"No he isn't, EOS," he said. "You're being obtuse, and I don't think you understand what he meant." Growling, John tossed aside his half-eaten bagel and strode out of the galley. "Stay there," he said. "And while you're at it, look up the definitions of _rape_ and _compassion_ in your databases. I know I sure as hell needed to until this point."

The door slid closed behind him, and John headed back around the gravity ring, in search of the one who was not himself.

 _I've been a fool_ , he thought. _I've been a jealous asshole. I felt like he was replacing me, like he was…I dunno,_ better _than me. But he's never been anything but pleasant. And I've thrown all of that in his face—and now EOS has put the proverbial foot in it and actually thrown something in his face. God damn it, I need to fix this whole sorry mess._

Blond John was not where redhead John expected to find him. Instead of working on his computing, he was hunched over on one of the small blue beds, his head in his hands. His glasses were tossed to the side and his shoulders were shaking. There were little drops on the curved glass floor. John stopped short, his breath fleeing.

Sucking in as much air as he could, redhead John stepped forward again. He approached as if the blond was a wounded animal—ready to strike out at any moment. Cautiously, John lowered himself onto the bed beside the other man.

"I'd like to…" he started. God, why did it sound so _stupid_? Sighing, he tried again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for laughing, and I'm sorry I've been such a jerk to you. It's just…" He sighed again. "I don't know."

The blond made no reply, but slowly sat up, rubbing at his puffy eyes. Without glasses, he was almost blind. That was clear when he struggled to find a point of focus on John's face.

"I'm sorry for being so emotional," he said. He pawed for his glasses. "It's just that…things have not been easy for me over the past few years. I never used to cry. I never used to get all that emotional at all. Happy-go-lucky, I guess. Always ready for an adventure." He chuckled, but the sound was coarse. "How that all changed."

Redhead John picked up the glasses Brains had manufactured and, instead of pressing them into the blond's probing hands, he slid them onto his face, settling the bridge on his nose with the care of a mother. Or a brother.

"I didn't know," he said. "I didn't know all those things you said about what happened to you."

"I never told you," John replied. "I guess… I didn't want to. I didn't want you to see me as…weak. As the lesser version of yourself."

The redhead shook his head and raised his eyes to the curved ceiling. The blond's face crinkled.

"What?"

The redhead returned his eyes to the blond.

"That's exactly what I didn't want you to think of me," he said. "You had your stories of being with this World Space Association thing, about going to mercury on the _Caduceus_ , and all of the amazing tales you told Alan—who inevitably relayed everything to me." He gave a dry laugh. "I felt…dumb in comparison. Not to mention that you're a family man with a…boyfriend?"

"Fiancé."

"Fiancé and a kid. I was… Hell, I was so jealous."

The blond John shook his head.

"You, jealous of me?" he asked. He gestured around. "Look at this place. Look at all of the wonders you have around you. I'm sure Alan's told you all about my station," he said.

John nodded.

"It sounds…utilitarian in comparison," he replied.

"It is, in some ways," the blond said. "But here, I mean, my god, you've got a sentient AI! The closest we have is a robot thing that can learn some skills, and he's not even mine!"

There was a moment of silence between the Johns. Then, emotions high, they leaned towards each other in an embrace.

 _What am I doing?_ John thought. _I don't do hugs_. And yet this didn't feel like a hug in any sense he'd experienced before. There was something more intimate, almost electric, about embracing another version of himself. And finally, he accepted, that was who this John was.

They broke apart after a moment, and the blond plucked his glasses off to clean them.

"I'm sorry," the redhead John said again. "I truly am."

"Accepted," the blond said. "I think I can understand. And anyway," he continued, "it won't matter soon. I think, together, we'll be able to crack this nut wide open. And then we can go _home_."

He lifted a hand. He reached out, awaiting a handshake.

One blue gloved hand accepted the other, and the shook, looking eye-to-eye for the first time as brothers.

"We will," the redhead John said. "We will."

~oOo~

 _Make your worries worry their way through new avenues of thought._

Kyrano's nugget of knowledge gnawed at Virgil all afternoon. There had been no rescues, and nothing new to report from Alan. Tin-Tin was still bedbound, and Grandma Tracy had made but a brief appearance. Brains was in his lab, working on something to do with mathematics and temporal mechanics. _I'm pretty good with numbers,_ Virgil thought, _but not those kinds. That's John's domain_.

He was sitting at his father's desk, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. But it seemed like the best place to be, considering the circumstances. _Dad would be here_ , he thought, _waiting for a call—any call. I need to do the same…_

At that, Alan's portrait eyes blinked as bright and fast as they could go. Leaning forward in the uncomfortable chair, Virgil pressed the button to accept the broadcast. The little ornament flipped up, and a live feed of his little brother appeared in the frame.

" _Virgil, you've_ gotta _hear this! I think—I mean, oh_ jeez _, it's—_ "

"Alright, boy," Virgil said, "calm down. Start again, Alan."

The youngest brother took a visibly deep breath, then spoke. Matt perched on the edge of the desk, waiting.

" _It'll be easier if I just let you hear it._ " Alan said.

There was a pause. Then:

" _Come…irgil… -me in, Inter—nal R-scue!_ "

Groaning, Virgil leaned forward further. Matt's face pulled in a deep frown.

"I can't make it out," he said. "Is there anything you can do?"

" _I can try to boost the signal_ ," Alan said, his hands flying over unseen knobs and buttons, " _but I can't even pinpoint where the signal is coming from_."

"I'd offer some assistance, but you're well more qualified than I am," Matthew said. "Just keep pushing buttons!"

" _That's the idea!_ " Alan replied.

Virgil was just about to call for Brains, but as he reached for his watch, the scientist appeared in the lounge, red-faced and puffing. Braman clunked along in his wake.

"I h-heard," he said. "I think this m-might be the breakthrough we've b-been looking for!"

"What can you do, Brains?" Virgil asked.

"Braman here has been running calculations for me," Brains replied. "N-now that we have the frequency upon which I b-believe this communication from the other universe is coming, we have something concrete upon which to put our th-theories. Braman?" Brains asked.

"Working, working," the robot replied.

" _—ational Res—e—Virgil—son—c—hear me?_ "

"Dad!" Virgil replied. "That's Dad's voice!"

" _Dad,_ " Alan said, " _Can you hear us_?"

"Working, working…"

" _—lan—Virgil—we're trying—communicate—_ "

"We know, Dad!" Virgil said. He was standing now, knuckles white under the pressure of his grip on the desk's edge. "Keep talking to us!"

There was a moment of deafening static, and Braman jerked, appearing to short out.

" _Virgil! Alan! Sons! Can you hear me_?"

Then there was a moment of deafening silence. Until Alan blurted out.

" _DAD_!"

"Alan, is that you?"

Jeff's voice rang loud and clear, even over the cacophonous cheers from behind him. It was a strange echo of space exploration decades before, the cheers of a successful launch or landing.

"Dad," Virgil said, trying to keep his voice level. "Is it really you? Are the others there?"

" _Hey Virgil_ ," Scott replied immediately. " _Boy, do I have some stories to tell you_."

" _Virg_!" came Gordon's reply. " _I got a perfect solution for covering up those greys that keep appearing. Black hair dye!_ "

"What on earth? Gordon—ah, heck, it doesn't matter. You guys are alright!" There was another voice he needed to hear. "John? Where's John?"

There was a brief pause.

" _I'm here, Virgil_."

John's reply wasn't as jovial as the others. Ever the canny brother, Virgil knew there was something going on. However, now what most certainly not the time to discuss it.

"How are you talking to us?" Virgil asked instead.

" _Talk to the big brains upstairs_ ," Jeff replied, " _and the capital-B one down here, too._ "

"And the one here as well," Matt butted in. His hands were shaking. His pace was even paler than before. "Elijah. Is Elijah there?"

Virgil could hear the other man's heartbeat.

" _Yes, Matty_ ," came the reply in the identical voice. " _I'm here_."

Matthew let out the most glorious of whoops, his joy echoing to the rooftop of the villa. A new chorus of laughter rallied, as well as the interjection of Gordon again.

" _Love you too,_ " he said.

There were tears in Matthew's eyes.

"Love you," he said, "but you have no idea how much ass-kicking I am going to do when the two of you get home."

More laughter poured forth, and Virgil wiped his eyes.

"I can't believe it," he said. "Everyone's well? No one's hurt?"

" _Well, most or less,_ " Jeff replied. " _There's nothing that can't be healed. All we need to do is figure out how we can make this portal big enough to get Thunderbird One and the rest of us back through into our own…_ " He cut off.

" _Dimension?_ "

" _Universe?_ "

"Timeline?"

" _Whichever_ ," Jeff chuckled. " _We just need time now that John, John, Brains, and Brains have cracked it_."

From Virgil's side, Brains shook his head.

"There appear to b-be some interesting universal p-parallels," he said.

" _Funny, I w-was th-thinking the s-same thing_ ," the other Brains replied.

Brains slumped back against Jeff's desk at that. Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's sure great to hear from you all," he said. "But it'll be even better to get you all home again."

"J-just what I was thinking," the other Brains replied.

Brains slumped back against Jeff's desk at that. Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's sure great to hear from you all," he said. "But it'll be even better to get you all home again."

" _Yes it will, son_ ," Jeff replied. " _Yes it will…_ "


	32. Chapter 32

Everything was going well, up until the interjection of a rescue. This was not an uncommon occurrence, and, if the Jeffs were being completely honest, at least it gave them time to cook the turkey.

Turkey?

What else do you eat for Thanksgiving, even if Thanksgiving is months away?

The rescue was an all-hands on deck occurrence, but so were the goings-on in the kitchen. The younger Jeff's sons—and his pseudo-daughter—were all gone, attending to a rock slide rescue in the French Alps. He was finally back at his desk, commanding, as he always should have been.

"Don't let that wing drop too low, Alan," he said, watching the holo-readouts, a miniature blue John at his right hand, beaming from the Light-Type.

"Da-ad, I _know_ ," Alan groused.

But there was no negativity in the tone. There was only happiness, and a contentment that the Tracy family hadn't felt in far too long.

Downstairs in the kitchen, things were not a serene as on the coal-face. The older Jeff seemed unable to wrap his mind around the idea that his—or rather, the other Jeff's—mother was not a gourmet chef. Anarchy nearly ensued until Brains intervened, shooing the purple-clad grandmother off on a wild goose chase—or rather, a frozen turkey chase.

"I'm s-sure there's one in one of the freezer units somewhere," he said. "I j-just thought you might know b-better than I."

"Well," Grandma Tracy said, rolling up her sleeves, "there's only one thing for it. Get your polar gear, Brains. We're going turkey-hunting."

The truth, of course, was that the turkey had already been acquired, and was hidden in the safety of the oven until the time came.

With Grandma Tracy trailing Brains behind her, it left only the older Jeff, Scott, blond John, red-head Gordon, and Lyra, and Elijah to attend the preparations. Of the men, there was only one alpha—perhaps not the expected one.

Eli wrapped an apron around his waist, the movement ginger due to his newly knitted bones. However, there was nothing ginger in his tone as he clapped his hands together and surveyed the domain.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. We are going to make the greatest feast this island has ever seen. There'll be something for everyone, and I need your help." He looked from fiancé to future father-in-law in turn. "You boys game?"

Jeff laugh echoed up into the lounge.

"Who knew you could be so confident?"

"Only when it comes to two things, Mr Tra—I mean, Jeff. Medical knowledge, and food."

"And do I get to help, _Dadaí_?" Lyra asked.

Immediately, Jeff scooped his granddaughter into his arms.

"You're going to be my best assistant," he said. He whispered conspiratorially into her ear. "I need your help, because I can't cook for beans."

The sent the youngster into a fit of giggling that would have made even the red-headed John smile.

Elijah brushed his hands together, then planted them on his hips.

"You game?" he asked John.

Crossing to the sink, John was already cleansing his hands before he answered.

"I'm game for anything with you," he said. "Now wash your hands, and let's get to it!"

Secrets are not easy to keep on a small island, not even when half its occupants are ten-and-a-half-thousand miles away.

As the five men and a little lady toiled in the kitchen, there were periodic beeps of communication. At first, they were simple expressions of incredulousness. _Real_ food was not something that existed on the island. However, as the rescue wound down and spirits were waning, the secret needed to be released.

Younger Scott's blue hologram hovered on the kitchen counter, his brows drawn together. What he couldn't see was the veritable feast that was materialising, and what he couldn't smell were the three courses of utter deliciousness.

" _So you're telling me_ ," he said, seeming to dodge something from above, " _that Elijah has been on the island for all this time, and he's never told us he can cook?_ "

"In my defence," the Irishman said, using his good arm to lift the pot to check on his traditional vegetable broth, "up until now, I've been an arm down. I couldn't really have done much."

As he was attending to the basting of the monster turkey, Gordon buzzed in.

" _C'mon, c'mon_ ," he said. " _Tell me everything. What are we having? I heard turkey. Is there turkey?_ "

"Ssh!" Elijah said, waving off the hologram. "I need to concentrate."

Things went according to plan, even when Brains and Grandma Tracy returned. The latter wasn't even angry at the elaborate deception when she beheld the feast before her.

"My goodness," she breathed, "I haven't seen anyone cook like this since my Grant was still alive."

The older Scott and Gordon tipped their heads to the side in unison at that, taking their attention from shaving the chocolate for a triple-chocolate cheesecake.

"Grant?" Scott asked. "That was Grandpa's name, too."

"Yeah," Gordon said. "Seems there are a lot of universal constants between our places."

"And a few that aren't!" Grandma Tracy said. "I can't cook for beans."

"That's just what I said about myself," the older Jeff said. "I guess some things don't translate across time and space—or whatever this is."

There were more interjections from the rescuers, but nothing could stop the whirlwind that was Elijah Lynch—affectionately renamed Elijah Lunch by blond Gordon, despite time ticking on and lunchtime left long behind.

By the time the team of five were returning and space-bound John was making preparations to come back to the island, the preparations were complete, the last elements were cooking, and _finally_ , the team of cooks were able to sit.

"Give me rescuing any day," the older Scott said, his face marked with streaks of melted chocolate.

"Ah, you're an old man now," Gordon said.

Jeff coughed, Lyra almost out-cold on his lap.

"Be very careful where you go next with that sentiment, son."

"Aaaaand, moving on."

The men fell to chuckling, but their laughter died at the sight of the many, many dirty dishes, chopping boards, utensils, and all the accoutrements that had gone into making the feast.

"God, I hope they have a dishwasher…"

 **~oOo~**

The air was filled with the chink and clink of cutlery on dishes, and not much else. Blond John smiled behind the rim of his glass. _That's the sound of a good meal_ , he thought. _Eating, and not much else!_ Snippets of conversation elbowed in as the mean went on and plates began to be cleared.

Eventually, the older Gordon dabbed his mouth with a napkin, straightened his knife and fork on his plate, and coughed for the others' attention. John plucked up his knife and tapped his glass, helping his brother get the attention he wanted. Eventually, the gathered Tracys quieted, and Gordon stood.

"I've got a reputation as having a pretty big mouth," he started.

"Me too," the younger, blonder version of himself chipped in.

There was a ripple of laughter before the older man continued.

"I guess I'd better use that talent for something positive," he continued. He raised his glass to Elijah. "I'd like to thank my future brother-in-law Eli for a wonderful feast, not only because it was _dee_ -licious, but because it brought us all together. So cheers, Elijah—or as Matthew has taught me, _sláinte_."

A chorus of "hear, hear!" went around the table. Gordon sat down, beaming with pride, while Elijah's face reddened with half-pleased embarrassment. Following his son's example, the older Jeff rose, keeping his glass lifted high.

"I'd just like to say a few words while we're all together," he said, "because after tomorrow, we won't have this chance again. There's an inevitable goodbye that has to be said, because once we go through that portal, we'll likely never be coming back. But I would like to say thank you to you all for looking after my family while we've been stranded here. It's almost been like being home— _almost_ ," he added, tipping his younger version a wink. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

The younger Jeff stood, side-by-side with the older, and lifted his glass, too.

"I know exactly what you mean, Jeff," he said. "If I can add my two cents as well, I'd also like to thank Elijah for the meal—and all his helpers, too, all the way down to the very smallest," he added. Lyra's face burst into a grin. "But also, Jeff, I'd like to thank you. Thank you for believing me when I told you my story, for not kicking me out and calling me a madman, and also for not giving up on me when I went against your instructions. I know you understand now, but it would have been easy for you to simply give me up to W.A.S.P. and be done with things. But you have my sincerest thanks for not doing that, and for being willing to carry this through to the end. So, thank you." He turned to the table. "Thank you _all_."

"Cheers!"

"Absolutely!"

"Amen, Dad."

" _Sláinte_."

The chorus of thanks went around the table, joined by the almost never-ending clink of glass on glass. The meal went on amiably, all the way through to dessert, and into the little hours of the morning. It was only when all the coffee had been drunk and the scotch was half-way empty that the Jeffs started ordering their various sons to bed.

Not all disappeared immediately, and the issue wasn't pressed _too_ hard. After the morning, they would never see each other again. It seemed callous to force the half-brothers apart.

John and Elijah slipped out to watch the stars, their daughter slumbering between them. They sat for what seemed like an eternity in one another's company, staring up at the dark sky. John marvelled at the pinprick dots, all exactly the same as in their own universe. _Yet they're different,_ he thought. _They must be. They can't be the same, because none of us are the same_. It was a little too much for a hazy evening, but he was saved from his thoughts by a gentle cough in the background.

Turning, he saw Grandma Tracy padding forward in her purple boots and all-in-one, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with one hand. In the other, she held a small package.

"Do you boys know what time it is?" she asked. She gestured at the sleeping child. "At least one of you has some sense."

Chuckling quietly, John extricated himself from Lyra's sleeping form, leaving her slumbering on her _dadaí_.

"I think we'll head to bed now," he said. "We'd need to."

"Well, before you go," Grandma Tracy said, lifting up the parcel, "I have a little something for you boys—or at least, one of you boys. Whoever wants to wear it."

"Wear it?" Elijah asked softly.

John, having seen the parcel, knew what she meant. He blinked before he accepted the small box, shaking his head slightly before he'd even opened it.

Grandma Tracy nodded.

"Yes," she said.

Prompted, John opened the little jewellery box. Inside was a polished ring, some sort of dark grey metal, inlaid with a black band of what appeared to be onyx, or something similar.

"Mrs Tracy," he said. "We can't accept this."

"You can and you will," she said. "That ring belonged to my Grant. It's not his wedding ring—I have that on a chain—but it's a ring he wore a lot. If it fits, I'd love one of you boys to wear it. It's a little way to remember us, and to remember how grateful we are to you for being the first piece of the puzzle that brought my Jeff back to me."

Elijah shifted in the lounge chair, pressing Lyra to one shoulder. He stood and walked to them.

"It's beautiful," he said, "but honestly, we can't take it. You have enough boys of your own here who could take it. It belongs to their grandfather."

Grandma Tracy waved the answer off.

"It's mine, and I'll do what I want with it," she said. "Grant had a lot of other jewellery, some of which has already gone to the boys and Jeff. This one's been gathering dust in my room for over a decade. I think it's time it went to a new home."

John plucked the ring from the velvet nest and turned it over in the moonlight. An idea springing to him, he gestured for Elijah to put his hand out. There was a brief pause, and Grandma Tracy swept in to take Lyra.

John grasped Elijah's hand, sliding the ring up to the knuckle of his ring-finger. It was a little loose, but the fit was close enough.

"Eli," John said, "I know I asked you before, but I'll ask again. When we get home, will you marry me?"

Elijah bit his bottom lip for a moment, nodding.

"Of course I will," he replied. "I couldn't not."


	33. Chapter 33

First light, first flight. It was decided. It was time to go home.

The goodbyes were emotional, more so than perhaps was warranted. But then, this wasn't an average goodbye. This wasn't an average journey. They were crossing dimensions, not oceans, and they were almost saying goodbye to themselves.

John—the blond—watched as his father bid farewell to his counterpart, then walked to his repaired jet, hand-in-hand with his granddaughter. Lyra twisted in his grasp, glancing back at her father.

"Daddy! C'mon!"

John pulled a hand from his pocket and waved.

"Coming, sweetheart!"

But instead of walking towards her, he turned on one heel and sought another's gaze. _I have one thing I want to do before I go…_

Target locked, he walked across the baking asphalt. The other blinked and shifted a little under his gaze, but John was undeterred. As he reached the redhead, he raised a hand and extended it. _I hope he accepts_.

His hand hung suspended for a moment, but his fear was assuaged when redhead John lifted his own and finally accepted the handshake.

"It's been nice knowing you," the blond said, wrapping his fingers tight. "I mean it."

"It's been…something," the redhead replied.

Then he did something entirely unexpected. He _smiled._

" _I_ mean it," he continued. "I'm sorry for any…unpleasantness. It's been a strange, strange experience."

Blond John returned the smile.

"Strange indeed." He released the redhead's hand and took a tiny step backward. "Take care of yourself."

"And you."

Slipping his hands into his pockets again, John turned. He caught the eyes of each of those Tracys gathered as a send-off, and inclined his head.

"All of you, take care," he said. "And thank you. Thank you for listening to me, and believing me, and looking after all of us."

Grandma Tracy bustled forward once more and gave him a final, lingering hug—as if she was one of her own. Her throat was clogged with emotion, and John lent his chin gently on the top of her head. She released him and stepped back, and John swallowed against his own tight throat.

From behind him, a hand rested on his shoulder. It was Scott.

"Let's go, Johnny-boy," he said.

"Sure."

It took longer than reasonable to turn around, but eventually he did. Scott slung a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"C'mon," he said. "There's another grandma who's just dying to see her grandsons again."

"Right," John replied. "I'm sure looking forward to some of her famous apple pie."

"Me too, bro," Scott said, squeezing his brother's shoulders. "Me too."

They were off then, clambering inside planes and a Thunderbird, back through the looking glass. Back to _home_.

First light, first flight.

John's fingers twitched, reaching for hands that weren't there. Lyra and Elijah were ensconced in the back of Tracy One, along with Uncle Gordon—Lyra's favourite travel partner. _He's always able to keep her calm,_ John thought. _Me too, for that matter…_

His heart hammered as they crossed the threshold of light. Nothing else mattered in that moment, except the chest-tight sensation of moving between worlds. Sitting in One's secondary seat, all his trust was in his brother to bring them safely back to _their_ island.

Their home.

A flash. Then the brightest of blue skies, and the sensation of the world righting itself again. He pried open his eyes, breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Scott? Did we make it?"

Nothing for a moment, expect the clicking of instruments and the steady in-and-out of breathing. Then:

"We made it, buddy," Scott said, turning. His grin was electric. "We're back in our own little corner of the universe."

Sweeter words had never been spoken. John exhaled, his body deflating.

"Home," he said. "Home."

 **~oOo~**

They heard the footsteps long before they saw the bodies making them. John braced himself as he stepped onto the runway, watching as two blips became flying blurs.

Virgil was ahead, his grin beaming even from a distance. John placed his hands on Lyra's shoulders as his brother swept towards them. He made a bee-line straight for their father.

"Dad! You're here!"

They clasped one another's hands, sweeping into a one-armed hug. Then Virgil moved on, pulling Scott in for an embrace.

"Scott, thank god," Virgil said, hammering his brother on the back. "It's so good to see you."

"And you, Virg."

Scott hammered back, lifting Virgil off his feet for an instant.

"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" a new voice chirped.

"Gordon!"

Virgil embraced his brother in turn, his smile stretching to the moon and back. His eyes fell on the final piece of the Tracy puzzle, and he wagged a finger at John, still grinning.

"I swear, if you disappear again…"

John held up his hands.

"I know, I know," he said. "Chain me up, staple me to the walls or something."

The brothers embraced, reunited after _so long_. John buried his face into his brother's shoulder, one hand still on Lyra—who was unimpressed by her turn in the Tracy hug parade.

"Don't forget about me, Uncle Virg!"

Virgil chuckled and swept her into the embrace, keeping her riding high on his bicep.

"How could I ever forget about you, little miss?"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the family was together again. For a moment, everything stopped. John watched his family rejoice in the reconciliation, the tightness in his stomach that had been there since the fateful day they disappeared finally gone. _Home. I'm finally home._

Of course, the Tracys were not the only ones to be reunited.

Beside John, Elijah's foot tapped, his every muscle tensed as his twin hurtled forth. Then he could wait no longer, and flew forwards, right into his brother's path.

"Matt!"

"Eli!"

Redhead collided with redhead, the twins back together after so long apart.

"Eli? Eli, is it really you?" Matt said, passing his hands over his brother's face. "Jesus, tell me it's really you!"

"It's me!" Elijah replied, doing the same, his fingers pressing into Matthew's temples. "It's really me."

" _Christ_ , Li-Li, I thought I'd never get you back."

Matthew wrapped his arms around his twin's waist, lifting him from his feet and spinning them in a circle.

"You are never allowed out of my sight _ever again_!"

Elijah scowled as his feet were lifted from the floor, but it didn't reach his eyes. John grinned and slung an arm around Virgil's shoulders, sighing in abject relief.

"I'm serious," Virgil said, "if you pull a disappearing act again…"

His joke was choked by true emotion, and John gave his shoulders a squeeze.

"I promise, I'm staying put," he said. "I have far too much to stay here for." His eyes found his fiancé, and he smiled anew. "Far too much."

 **~oOo~**

Dad was _back_. Virgil couldn't stop that thought rolling over and over in his head. He didn't really want to try, because the sensation was so sweet. Not only was Jeff back, but all the others were back—his brothers, Thunderbird One, _everything_.

It was all back to normal. Jeff lingered behind his desk until fatigue overcame him, and he reluctantly went off to bed. Now, Virgil and Scott sat at a long-abandoned chess match, nursing scotch, simply being with one another.

Without warning, a chuckle escaped Virgil's mouth. His older brother quirked an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, asking the silent question. _What?_

"It's nothing," Virgil replied. He swirled the golden liquid around the glass, watching as it came away in a thin film.

"It's clearly not nothing, Virg," Scott said. A smile played at his lips. "What's up? You've been unreasonably quiet ever since we got back."

Virgil shrugged and smiled back.

"I don't know how you do it, is all."

"Do what?"

"Play the leader," Virgil replied. He sipped his drink, savouring the burn. "I hated every minute of being in charge here. I don't know how you put up with it."

It was Scott's turn to shrug. He took a sip of his own drink and sighed in pleasure.

"I don't love it," he said, "but I know how to do it, and I know I'm good at it. You're clearly good at it to, since you kept everything together while we were gone."

"Good, maybe," Virgil said. He set his etched tumbler down beside the long-abandoned chess board and shook his head. "But I don't want to do it again."

Scott leaned forward, his face suddenly serious.

"I mean it, Virg," he said. "You did a damn good job at keeping International Rescue operational under the circumstances. A skeleton crew, with half your family missing, not knowing whether we'd ever make it back again? I'm not sure I could have done it."

Virgil shook his head.

"Of course you could have," he said, "but I appreciate the sentiment. It's not something I ever want to experience again." He chuckled. "I have half a mind to nail John's boots to the floor so he never leaves the island again!"

Scott chuckled, deep and clear, and nodded.

"Amen to that!" he said. "That boy needs to stay safe for a while. I'll wrap him up in bubble wrap if that's what it takes!"

Virgil joined in the laughter, and the sound of the two brothers' joviality echoed through the villa. Brothers, together again at last.


End file.
